The Neverending Story
by Samwise Baggins
Summary: The kids have to choose between finally going home... or staying and helping the Realm survive.
1. Difficult Answers to an Easy Question

Title: Difficult Answers to an Easy Question

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 01 / 33

Rating: PG-13: For future chapters

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 11 going on 12; Diana- 17 going on 18; Sheila- 17; Presto- 17; Eric- 18; Uni- 3; Hank- 18 going on 19; Venger- over 2000; Dungeon Master- over 2000

Summary: The kids have to choose between finally going home-or staying and helping the Realm survive.

Spoiler: Basically, random episodes from the Animated D&D series, as well as the un-aired "Requiem" episode by Michael Reeves. Die-hard fans may not approve of what I do with Uni in this series, and for that I am sorry.

Category: Fantasy, Adventure

Disclaimer: "Dungeons and Dragons" is a trademark of TSR and the cartoon is a creation of many peoples, including Marvel Productions, TSR inc, Saban Entertainment, and Wizards of the Coast. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story-and most likely not a story any of them would have written had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment, and that of free entertainment to a select group of friends. Thank You.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Note: The Series title has nothing to do with the book or movie of the same name, but, as most RPGers know, "Dungeons and Dragons" rarely has an end. Characters get stronger and are discarded at times for newer ones to work with, but every once in awhile we love to pull out those old faithfuls and utilize them again. Thus this story was born.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

"No! I. . ." Sheila's soft teal eyes started to fill with tears. She hated herself when she was so weak, but there were times, like this, when it was the only thing she could do. "Hank. . ."

Diana put her thoughts into words for her, like she had done so often over the hazardous times past. "Hank, there's such a thing as taking duty and honor too far. Are you sure that's not the case here?" Her voice was strong and quiet, the voice of reason in the chaos they'd lived with for three years.

"Be reasonable, Hank. We're finally going home. . . for good. No more Orcs. No more wet ground. No more scavenging for something remotely edible. We'll have cars and phones and hot baths and soft beds and. . ."

Presto's slightly nasal voice, beginning to settle from the odd range it had started to cascade through with the onset of puberty, broke through Eric's reverie, "Maybe Hank's right, though."

"What! You have got to be kidding, Presto!" The raven-haired teen turned to his younger friend. "Home! Why would we want to stay here? They've got warriors and real wizards to do the dirty work. I want pizza and ice cream and my dad's limo."

The auburn-haired boy winced at Eric's slight on his magic. He didn't back down, however, having learned to stand up for himself when it really mattered. Thus, Presto stepped forward and frowned softly, calmly stating, "My name's Albert. . . and I _am_ a real wizard, Eric."

The other youths turned shocked faces to the normally easily cowed young man. Bobby, their youngest member, grinned suddenly and snickered at the shock on Eric's face as Sheila said softly, "Oh, Presto. . . oh. . ." She flushed then softly corrected herself with the now unfamiliar name, "I mean Albert."

Presto flushed and shrugged, her reaction undoing the determination he'd felt seconds before. "Uh. . . you can call me Presto. . . I mean. . ." he looked at Eric and hung his head. "I didn't mean to snap at you, Eric. You can still call me Presto. But I am a wizard. I'd, uh, appreciate you not insulting me about that, uh, anymore, okay?" He turned nervous gold eyes up to his friend, silently pleading for Eric to respect him, to not make a big deal of being insulted himself this time.

Eric didn't get to respond, though, as Bobby turned to Sheila. "So, are we going or not, Sis? I wanna get outta this place." A desperate bleat had him swinging around with guilty horror on his face. "Oh! Uni. . . I forgot! I can't take you home with me." He dropped his club to throw his arms around the red-maned unicorn who barely stood as tall as his shoulder. The foal nuzzled his neck, bleating sorrowfully at the human she was closest to in all the worlds.

Dungeon Master and his son, Venger, stood to the side, watching the Young Ones struggle with the choice they had been given: go back to their lives and homes or stay and help defend and rebuild the Realm. It was by far not the easy choice it might have seemed at first. They would be leaving three years of friends, enemies, and lives behind to try to become the children they once were-and could perhaps not ever be again.

The pair couldn't remain out of the conversation for long, however, as Diana turned towards the two powerful beings. She had her strong hands firmly planted on her hips, ignoring the now familiar feeling of the fur she wore. "How bad is this place? I mean, how desperate are you for heroes?" The determination in her voice matched the glint in her chocolate eyes.

Dungeon Master turned ageless teal eyes on the young Acrobat, his sad smile more haunting than ever before. "We are in dire need, Young Ones, but the choice is yours to make, not ours to command. Your choice is fading as you stand here. The portal will not remain for long."

"I'm going," Bobby hurried to interject, pulling regretfully away from the unicorn, who bleated sorrowfully. "Bye, Uni. I'll miss you." He turned quickly, trying to make this parting easier for them both, scrubbing an arm harshly over his eyes to rid himself of the babyish tears he knew were there. "C'mon, Sis, let's go home." Bobby grabbed for Sheila's hand.

She pulled away still looking at Hank. "Just a minute, Bobby. Hank?" Her voice pleaded with their leader, begging him to reconsider his choice, to decide they should go home.

The tall blond shook his head sadly and looked at the group. "We don't all have to decide the same thing, Sheila. I'm staying to help rebuild this world. Maybe. . . maybe I'll come home later." He cringed inside at the sob the petite redhead tried to hold back.

Sheila groped for her little brother's hand and clung to it as to a lifeline. She nodded, but it was obvious she couldn't understand Hank's choice to remain in this horrible place. Instead, she turned towards the others, and her voice broke as she whispered, "Presto? Diana?"

Diana glanced towards Hank and back to Sheila. She could see both sides, taste both worlds, and suddenly she made up her mind. "Staying." She felt Hank's steady hand touch her shoulder in silent gratitude for her support, even as the look of bewilderment in her best friend's eyes tore at her heart.

Presto gulped and nodded. "I'm staying, too. I. . . I'm needed here, and. . . and Varla's here." His heart still yearned for the red-haired Illusionist he'd met in the Realm. Back home there would be lonely nights in the library, waiting for his tired, indifferent mom to pick him up and hurtful days in school while the other kids tormented him. Here there was love and a chance to help an entire world. He felt his back straighten and his shoulders set as he thought of the good he could do here.

With a nod of acknowledgement, but little approval, the seventeen year old turned to her last friend. Her voice was almost inaudible and it ended with another sob. "Eric? We should go."

Glancing over the determined, yet sorrowful, looks of their companions, Eric nodded slowly. He didn't sound as certain as he had a moment before as he claimed "right. We're going." With a last look at the other three, the dark-haired youth put a hand behind Sheila's back and guided her and Bobby towards the portal. He paused just outside the glow.

"What's wrong?" Sheila wiped at her tears, trying to bring Eric's blurred image into better focus, trying not to glance back at those they were leaving behind.

He quickly looked down at her. "Nothing." His voice strengthened suddenly and he tried again. "Nothing's wrong. Just. . . God, I must be insane!" Eric turned away from the soft glow, letting go of the siblings to stride back to the others. "You better be right about being able to get home later, Hank, or I'll haunt you for the rest of your life!"

"Eric!" There was sheer desperation in Sheila's voice and her grip on Bobby's hand tightened to much protesting from her now squirming brother. "But-home-we've wanted it so long, worked for it so hard. Why. . ." she couldn't understand why even Eric would stay after all the whining and complaining he'd done just moments ago.

"Sheila?"

Bobby's voice brought her attention down to the eleven year old and she frowned at the doubt on his youthful face.

"Maybe we should stay, too? I could help out."

Horror filled her eyes and she shook her head, "No! Bobby, you're going home even if no one else is!" Before anyone, especially the young Barbarian, could react, Sheila pushed the boy through the glowing portal, calling out, "Tell Mom I love her, Bobby!" and then the mystical gate closed.

Sheila turned to see the stunned looks of the other teens, hear the accusing, mournful bleats of the little unicorn, face the knowledge that the two powerful mages had known what would happen all along. The look in Dungeon Master's wise old eyes confirmed it. Unreasonably, the last angered her, hurt her more than the actual decision had. She sobbed and flung herself at them blindly, crying out, "You knew we would stay and Bobby'd go. You knew and didn't help us!"

"I knew that the Barbarian would return to your world, yes." His voice was soothing but didn't contain the comfort the young Thief so desperately sought. He placed a hand on her bowed head, feeling her wracking sobs but holding up his other hand to prevent the others from coming to her yet. "And I knew that you would remain in this one. His leaving was foreseen in a dream, but your staying was ever etched into your souls. Your heart would not allow you to choose otherwise."

"I. . . I sent him away. . . alone. . ." her own fear of being alone made Bobby's fate that much harder to bear, despite being the one to choose it for him.

Dungeon Master gently lifted her face up and softly dried her tears with one aged finger. "He who loves is never truly alone, Young One. Bobby will return to you one day, whether in this world or another is hard to say. He will, however, have the comfort of a special friend through the waiting."

"Dungeon Master?" Hank's voice held wonder even as he kept it to its normal steady calm. "You called him _Bobby_. You've never used our real names before."

"I kind of thought you didn't even know them," interjected Presto, an air of disbelief and guilt playing through his nasal voice.

Venger laughed: a deep echoing sound filled with joy rather than the menace they had come to expect from him. "Dungeon Master knows the names of every Young One brought to this world and every Young One who will ever be brought to this world. You were never merely tools to my father, after all."

The laughter had surprised the teens, and they turned to him as Eric pounced on Venger's words. "Wait a minute! You mean there are others? We're not the only people whose lives you wrecked?"

"Eric," the soft warning was almost habitual for Hank, and, just as habitually, the Cavalier ignored it.

"And you made us stay in this godforsaken place! I can't believe I fell for that. . . again! Oh, sure," his ranting now culminated in his storming around in an ever increasingly agitated pattern on the hard stone floor. "'_This world always needs heroes_', he says. '_The choice is not ours to command_', he says. But does he tell us we're not really the only people he's snatched and used? No! He. . ."

"Eric!" Hank's hard voice broke through his friend's anger long enough to quiet him, at least temporarily. "We made our decision. Now we should honor it." The Ranger turned to the pair of mages. "What do we have to do, Dungeon Master?"

"No, Hank!" Eric shot back quicker than Hank had expected. "He should have told us there were other lackeys here. He held out on us, knowing that if he told, we'd have gone home. Admit it. If you'd known there were other schmucks for hire here, you would have happily gone back home to football and homework and archery tournaments. He manipulated us into staying here!"

Sheila's sob was barely audible, and Diana's stern voice telling Eric to calm down was ignored. But it was Presto's surprisingly steady voice which brought the ranting teen up short. "I wouldn't have changed my mind. I would still stay. I. . . I want to stay."

"Presto! Never say you like it here?" Eric whirled on the younger teen in shock once more. As Presto nodded, opening his mouth to further defend his choice, Venger interrupted. He was picking up the discarded club. "You are still needed, Young Ones, whether others are here or no. Everyone who chose to stay is needed now more than before. For, not only must a world be rebuilt, a new evil must be fought."

Dungeon Master sighed, sadly, and nodded in accord with his pupil, his son. "Today, you cease to be apprentices and step onto the paths of truth. Today, you will forever be changed." And before the teens could even think to protest, a blinding light swirled into the room from everywhere. It spun around them, twisting and churning, until it seemed to fill their very senses. And, just as the tugging sensation started and the light began to pull them, it could be said that a quiet voice, filled with regret, whispered, "Forgive me, Young Ones, for what you now face."

And then the light went out-and the world fell into darkness.

Continued in Chapter Two: Bobby's World


	2. Bobby's World

Title: Bobby's World

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 02 / 33

Rating: PG-13: language

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon; Autumn 1992: Earth

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 8 going on 9 then 17 going on 18, Terri- 9 then 18

Summary: Bobby is home but his heart is not. How can he live like that?

Note: The chapter title has nothing to do with the Harry Mandell series of the same name.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

With a flash, the soft glow became a blinding, roaring inferno, complete with searing flames and blistering heat. It was burning him and there was nothing he could do to stop the pain and horror. Why was he on fire? And why'd Sheila have to push him into the portal?

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming vortex became a soft glow interspersed with random colored blurs. These blurs soon took vague shape then solidified into poor imitations of mythical beasts. Bobby became aware that he was sitting in the front seat of a six-person roller coaster car, and he was all alone. The track before him ended in a dark panel which slid back to reveal daylight and shouting, laughing teenagers.

Stunned, it was a full minute before Bobby became aware of the harassed attendant calling for him to get out of the car so someone else could have a go. The eleven year old-no, doing a double take, Bobby realized he was almost nine once more. The three years in the Realm had never happened-here. Bobby stood and slid unsteadily from the car, frowning at the emptiness of the other seats.

As he made his slow way down the exit ramp, harassed by several older kids who wanted him to move faster so they could get to another ride, the child thought over what had happened. He stopped just off the ramp and to the side, ignoring the flow of screaming teens that passed. Sheila had pushed him into the portal before it closed, sending him back home.

Home.

He was home! Bobby let out a sudden whoop of joy and jumped in the air, his fist flying high with his momentum. He grinned, laughed, and skipped around in an insane display of jubilation. Those passing him smiled in indulgence at the excited kid. However, the joy didn't last as he turned to call out to his friends.

They hadn't come home with him. Not even Sheila had returned. He was here, and they were there. Anger and hurt welled up as suddenly as the elation of a moment before. They had sent him home like a little baby! He wanted to rave, to cry, to kick and scream, but he knew that would only prove their decision was right. He had to get back. Sheila would need him; he was certain.

Turning around, Bobby started shoving desperately through the crowd, trying to get back to the entrance ramp. He'd get back on the ride and go back to the Realm, and then they'd see he was determined to help them. They'd stop treating him like a baby, stop being over protective and let him do his share of the work. He would be the Barbarian again.

As he waited in line, foot tapping impatiently, Bobby stretched to peer around the older kids. Sure, there were littler kids in the park, but they weren't on this ride; in fact, Bobby had barely met the height requirements himself. He wanted to catch a glimpse of the front of the line, trying to determine how long before he could go join his friends once more. The eight year old was three people away from the cars when the unthinkable happened. The ride shut down.

With a cry of protest, ignoring the kids who disgustedly pushed back down the ramp to find a more promising ride, Bobby ran towards the operator. "It can't shut down. I have to go back in there. Please? Just me-then you can close, 'kay? Just, I gotta get in there; my sister's in there-"

"Don't worry kid. The ride'll be back up and running by tomorrow. Just routine maintenance, you know. And the kids inside are being led out, so your sister will be at the other end in a minute. Why doncha go over there and meet her." He gave him a toothy grin and turned to answer a hail from a mechanic just climbing onto the track.

Bobby tried to protest but the operator turned, looking annoyed. "I said wait for your sister at the other side. I'm not allowed to start this thing back up until it's fixed. One of the cars broke down and it stops the whole ride, get it? Now scat, kid." He glared once more then hopped down to meet the mechanic, complaining how little kids were so rude now-a-days.

Dejectedly, worriedly, Bobby headed back down the entrance ramp and towards the exit, even though he knew Sheila wouldn't be there. None of them would. He was trapped at home while they needed him in the Realm. With a shake of his head, the blond realized that he had just thought of being home as being trapped. With a snort, he moved off into the crowd, planning on coming back after school the next day. They couldn't get too far ahead of him-right? With determined stride, Bobby headed for the park exit, ignoring the calls from others to come join the ensuing fun. The park wasn't fun anymore. It was something which had pulled his life apart twice. He wouldn't look at amusement parks the same way again.

xxx

The school yard was a buzz of activity as people went over the news, shocked at how anything could happen in their small, peaceful town. Five teenagers had turned up missing. It was splashed over the papers and even made the locale news on television. The rumors abounded: some placing the kids as runaways, some saying they were some sort of cult, and others claiming that a horrific child stalker was out on a serial kidnapping craze.

Bobby knew otherwise. He'd nearly been forbidden to come to school that morning; his parents were so distraught over Sheila's disappearance. He'd tried to explain about the ride and the Realm, and all he'd gotten for his troubles was a ban on watching television or playing fantasy games for awhile. It was the fact that he had several tests that day which made his parents relent and send him to school after all. However they told him he couldn't go to the amusement park as he'd planned. They wanted him home on the bus, safe and sound.

That irked. How was he to follow his sister and bring her back if he wasn't allowed out of the house? His parents had quickly gotten over their annoyance at Sheila for bringing Bobby to the park without prior permission-their anger had turned to worry, then down right fear, as the hours ticked by and their teenaged daughter hadn't come home. Then they had asked Bobby's story and banned him from anything fun! He wasn't allowed to have anything to do with fantasy-and they wouldn't even let him go out to play with his friends, afraid he'd be stolen away as well. He'd think of something. He had to. Sheila needed him; they all did.

With a sigh, he accepted the stares and whispers concerning his missing sister and friends. Normally he'd have lost his temper or tried to explain, but he was too busy plotting to bother. That made people talk all the more: volatile Bobby O'Neil was ignoring people? Something must be horribly wrong. The eight year old didn't care about their talk, though. He figured it wasn't important at the moment.

Slipping into the building, other kids running down the halls calling out to each other about the incident, Bobby headed directly for homeroom. He glanced up once at the sympathetic, nervous teacher then sat at his desk. Taking out a notebook, he started writing down the names of every person or creature they'd helped in the Realm. Once he got back in, he would need help finding the others, so it never hurt to have a list of friends to call on.

Suddenly, he stopped writing and stared in surprise at the paper before him. A slow, wide smile spread across his tanned face, and he let out a whoop much like the one from yesterday. Jumping up, startling the teacher and the few students who'd come inside early, Bobby grinned and thrust his fist in the air. "Yes! All right!" Then he laughed, gathered his stuff up, and headed for the door.

The teacher shook his head in sympathy at the boy's antics, thinking he hadn't yet realized that his sister was in danger wherever she was.

Sprinting out the door, grinning at people as he ran past, Bobby darted around the side of the building towards the other door. That one had steps, and was normally used for a main entrance, but this time people had been at the side door to get a glimpse of Bobby and anyone else who knew the missing teens. Thankfully, that meant the main door was relatively free of crowds.

Bobby skidded to a halt and leaned happily against one of the tall stone pillars that fronted the stairway. He reached for the locket hung around his neck, fingering the delicate heart, unaware for the moment how odd it looked for a stocky boy to be wearing such a feminine bit of jewelry. He knew it was only a matter of time before the first friend would show up, the first person that could help him on the road to his sister.

xxx

Dragging her feet in dejection, Terri headed out of the vast school building. Kids were running and screaming, laughing and talking, all around her. It had barely been halfway through first period when the Principal announced that the school was being closed to relieve the staff in an effort to aid the search for the missing students. However, only five students were said to be missing, and when she'd asked their names, people had either ignored her or couldn't remember them; they were High School kids and most of the little kids didn't really know them.

Thus, her first day in a new town, in a new school, Terri found herself alone and with nothing to do. Her parents would be getting the house in order and would be exasperated to have her under foot. She had no friends and didn't know where anything was, so she couldn't keep herself busy, either. School was done for the day before it had barely begun; she didn't even have that refuge. She felt isolated and unwanted.

"Hey, Terri. Lose something?"

The cheerful call startled her and she stopped walking to glance up, hope in her eyes. She knew that voice, and-yes-she knew its owner, too. "Bobby!" Dropping her books, she practically jumped down from the middle step to launch herself into a hug. Bobby O'Neil caught her, the delicate locket still clutched in one hand, a huge grin splitting his face. Just like in her dream.

"Oh, Bobby! You're home! And I'd nearly forgotten the dream-and didn't recognize that this was your town." She smiled happily, her long black ponytail swinging with her enthusiastic movements. "Oh, and today was looking so bad until now"

Bobby laughed, swinging her around then putting her down. He had always been a strong kid, and Terri was pretty light. "Well, I'm here now, kid, so stop looking so sad. Let's go to my house." He grinned and scooped up her books without really looking at how much damage he might be doing. She didn't care, walking side-by-side with her closest friend.

With a small tilt of her head, Terri studied the boy next to her. He looked younger than when she'd seen him in the Realm-but then again, she was younger, too. They'd de-aged once they'd returned, it seemed. Well, that meant more time here to get to be his friend. She smiled.

The blond turned and grinned again at her happy look. "So, I expected you to come out, but I thought I'd be waiting until recess. Why'd everyone get let loose so early?"

Terri sighed. "They wanted the teachers to help search for the missing kids. Do you know who they are? No one else can seem to tell me, Bobby. They're teens-maybe your sister knows them?"

"My sister's one of them." Bobby's smile disappeared and he sighed. "I got back, but the others are still in the Realm, and I'm having troubles getting back. Mom and Dad won't let me go to the park, so I can't get on the ride like last time. And the whole town thinks they've been kidnapped or runaway or joined a cult or something. . ."

The girl turned to stare at Bobby in surprise. "You got out of the Realm?" Without realizing just how obvious her comment was, Terri rambled on. "Oh, that's great. That means the others can find a way, too, right?" She wanted him to look on the bright side, her reunion with him making everything look brighter.

"No. I don't know. See, they had the chance, too, but some of them wanted to stay. Right before the portal closed Sheila pushed me through but none of the others came through. So they're over there, and I'm stuck here trying to get back over there."

"Oh, but why would you want to go back, Bobby? They obviously wanted you here to stay safe and now you don't have to worry. Sheila will get back and so will the others." She wanted desperately for him to change his mind, stay and be her friend, selfish as that was. Terri wanted Bobby to stay home with her.

He shook his head, however, and grimaced. "They need me, Terri. I want to stay, really, but I've gotta go back and help Sheila." He turned equally desperate eyes on his friend. "She needs me."

Terri nodded slowly. "Oh-okay-Bobby." She tried not to be upset, truly, but it was so hard. She'd had a horrible time in that place, and finally she had one of her best friends back, and he wanted to go back to that nightmare all over again. It was difficult to accept. Their walk to the O'Neil house was finished in deep silence, both trying to think of ways to solve their dilemmas.

xxx

"Oh, man! This is the end!" The seventeen year old slammed his hand down on the metal roll bar, much to the annoyance of the attendant. At a glare from the slightly older teen, the blond stood up and climbed out of the aging metal coaster car. He was followed by his slim, black-haired companion.

"Bobby, calm down. You've tried every day you could get here, and the portal's never reopened." Terri glanced over her shoulder, wincing as she saw Jimmy Whittaker following them a bit too closely, smirking at her discomfort. "Come on, let's go somewhere more private."

The youth sighed and nodded, grabbing her arm to propel her towards a boat ride. It was quiet and slow, but no one was standing in line due to the chilly air of the fall season. Soon the park would close and school would start. Without a word, the boy led his companion into the sea-monster shaped boat, ignoring the exasperated look from the operator who'd hoped to be able to call it an early day.

"Okay, we're private, Terri, now can I get upset?" He was being unreasonable, he knew, but the continued failures over the past eight years angered him. He felt helpless, desperate to aid his friends, and knew that he probably should have given up years ago. "The portal won't open for me, is that it? You're saying by going through that other one eight years ago, I'm not gonna be able to return to the Realm?"

Terri bit her lip, her blue eyes sad as she nodded her confirmation. She'd never wanted to go back to that place but had been there every time Bobby had tried. Yes, that meant going back, but she didn't want to leave Bobby again. It was frightening sometimes to think that she cared more about him than she did about her own parents, but that was how things stood. And so she'd risked it every time-risked going back to that place of danger and death-all for the sake of Bobby.

And his continuing failures to get back were wearing down his normally sunny temperament. He was getting more withdrawn, more sullen by the week. Everyone had noticed. Instead of jumping into fights, he was picking them. Instead of participating in sports, he was cruising the streets, almost as if he was looking for trouble. Instead of trying to get into a college and start a life of his own, he was rehashing every moment of his time in the Realm, to the point of obsessing over it.

The thing that terrified her the most, however, wasn't the anger and hostility; he never turned them on her. It was the notebooks. Books and books filled with minute details about his life in the Realm. As if he hadn't had enough in that first three years, he kept writing, then rereading, the events that had occurred. And he brooded over them.

She was beginning to think she might lose him completely to the dark world he kept retreating to. It was more and more obvious that he was blaming himself for not being able to get back, beating himself up inside for not being there to protect his sister even though she had others looking out for her. Soon, he might immerse himself so fully in his memoirs that she might never get him back-and that was worse than losing him to the Realm.

And so, every time he made the attempt to find a portal she was by his side, encouraging and guiding him. She researched in the dustiest, oldest books, searched in the dingiest shops, and talked to the oddest people. The more time that passed, the more she feared they'd never find the solution-and the more she feared they would. She was afraid that they already had the solution to Bobby's problem: that he wasn't allowed back into the Realm. That would kill Bobby.

His voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I guess I could try that."

Blinking, wondering what she'd missed, and worried he'd try something without her, Terri turned to her companion. "What are we going to try?"

Bobby turned to her, running a hand absently through too long blond hair. "Me, not you. You're not trying it out, Terri. I'm gonna try it on my own." His voice was soft, but firm, as were his blue eyes.

She shuddered. "But, I'm coming with you, Bobby. We're both going back to the Realm-together-right?" She touched his arm, hoping he'd say she wouldn't lose him again.

The shake of his head made her heart fall, even as he replied "no. That's the problem. It might not be me that's being refused entrance, Terri. Maybe it's you. Dungeon Master sent you back because you didn't belong. But me, he gave a choice to. Sheila took that choice from me, so I'm thinking I'll be allowed back in. But you? Maybe you're not allowed."

Opening her mouth in protest, Terri was aware that she felt suddenly cold and numb. It seemed to sing through her _this is truth-he's right_. She shook her head and willed herself to remain calm. "Bo. . .Bobby? What if it's you that's not allowed and me that is?" She hated the idea of going back alone, but she couldn't take back the words now.

Bobby turned his head sharply and narrowed his eyes. Then a very slow, old and oft unseen, smile crossed his features, lighting up his eyes and entire face in a once familiar sunny way. "Terri, if I can't get there then you can try, but I'll bet you'd be just as glad if we neither of us tried again." He took her hand and turned to watch the water, still smiling, as if for some reason his cares had been temporarily lifted. It was several long minutes before he spoke again, just as they were pulling back to dock. "Thank you for putting up with my shit all these years, Terr. You know-I love you."

He glanced at her, smiling wider, then tugged her unresisting from the boat. She was too stunned, her heart singing as her mind tried to sort things out, to protest even that minor rough handling. Instead, she nodded dumbly and allowed herself to be manipulated. She was still dazed, her mind whirling, as they approached the _Dungeons & Dragons_ ride once more.

It was when he tugged her onto the entrance ramp that her euphoric state evaporated. "Oh, Bobby, now? We've already tried todayﾗcan. . .can't we try tomorrow instead?" She wanted time with him, now that he'd admitted his feelings. She wanted time to savor it, to enjoy him.

The seventeen year old shook his head. "I'm gonna go alone, Terri. If I don't make it through, we'll give up entirely, okay? C'mon-what're the odds?"

"Too good-" muttered Terri as they moved up the line towards those horrible, old coaster cars.

They finally made it, and Bobby climbed into the car, asking the operator not to let anyone else on with him. The guy glared at him, but as Bobby was a daily regular, he finally nodded and let the car go off with its lone passenger, much to the annoyance of the waiting crowd. Terri watched it go with her heart in her throat and fear in her eyes. She knew that this time, he'd not come out the other side.

Continued in Chapter Three: Diana's Dilemma


	3. Diana's Dilemma

Title: Diana's Dilemma

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 03 / 33

Rating: PG-13: blood and violent emotions

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Diana- 17 going on 18; Dekion- assumed 27 going on 28

Summary: Diana finds out that their quest is not everything she thought it would be.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Blackness. Total cold, unfeeling darkness. Had life ended? Had death claimed them?

With an inaudible groan, Diana turned her head and tried to blink away the black nothingness before her eyes. She almost felt as if it were invading her very soul. With a cry as primal as the dawn, she pushed herself blindly up, defying whatever was occurring. She would not go out lying down; she never had before. Falling silent, listening to the blanket of soundless black, she suddenly, thankfully became aware of something.

The ground.

She was sitting up, hands planted firmly in soft, grassy loam. It was as if she had been lying in someone's new garden, with sprouts all around. The feel of the earth below her brought comfort in the confusing, endless night.

Smells assaulted her next, and her quick wits figured out that perhaps there really was something to see and hear. Perhaps her own senses were at fault and not the world around her. This was confirmed by the touch of a gentle, hesitant hand on her head.

Then the sense of taste returned, and with it came the knowledge that her mouth was filled with dirt and something metallic. She brought her hand up, blindly, trying to spit out the debris, to clear her mouth. Whoever had touched her seemed to be helping her still. Something was brought to her mouth, her head tilted sideways, and water, cool and clean, poured over her open mouth, washing away dirt and blood, for that was what the metallic taste had been. It was a wonder that none had gone down her throat during her scream.

Thankfully, she utilized as much of the water as she was permitted, until it ran out. With a sigh, turning blind eyes up to where she thought her rescuer stood, Diana attempted a smile. "Th. . .thanks. . ." her voice sounded hoarse and small to her ears, but it sounded none-the-less. Her smile widened as the sound of a deep, reverberating voice came back to her.

"You would have done the same for me once, Young Acrobat. It is the least I can do to repay your kindness."

The voice was familiar-solemn and gentle and strong all at once. Something about it tugged at the memory, and suddenly she recognized the speaker, surprise lending strength to her own voice. "Dekion? Is that you?"

A soulful laugh accompanied the reply. "Yes, Acrobat, it is I, Dekion. And if memory serves me you are known as Diana." She felt a strong grip on her arm, reminding her of the arm grip of greeting she'd once seen used in a King Arthur movie. Instead of greeting, however, the Celestial Knight was pulling her to unsteady feet, using the firm grip to balance her. It certainly made her feel steadier than a simple hand tug would have.

As she stumbled against him, despite the support, his voice rumbled out in calm warning. "Careful, my young friend. You will remain unsteady for some while, and your eyesight will not return for some hours. You have had a long, arduous journey through the _Void_ and must expect weakness." His other arm came around her and the Knight guided the teen into walking. She had no idea where they were going but something inside said that she could trust this Knight they had saved far more than she could even trust the new Venger. And so, she allowed him the control, the guidance. After a few easy steps, with no apparent barriers to stumble upon, she asked, "where are the others, Dekion? I can't hear anyone else."

"There are no others, Lady Diana. We are on the edge of a precipice away from Humans and other denizens of the Realm. The only others around are simple creatures without the interest or will to aid us. The _Void_ oft separates travelers."

"_Void_?" Diana turned her head towards her companion's voice, so many questions bubbling up that she needed answers to. "Precipice?"

"Yes. When you left the _Void_ you all but fell over the edge. I happened to be passing and stopped your fall. The rest you are aware of." Dekion tugged her arm gently, guiding her to sit on a flat, large stone.

She obeyed. "But, Dekion-the _Void_? Where are the others? How do you know how I got here?" "Dungeon Master told me to look for a warrior to aid me."

When his answer came from her other side, she wanted to scream in frustration. She had never thought blindness could be worse than feebleness but not knowing where she was, or where her companion was, drove her towards the edge of anger and despair. "And how will I find the others if I can't see?"

Dekion made a rumbling sound, as if acknowledging her while trying to come up with answers to her inquiries. Finally, as her patience was about to snap, he responded. "The _Void_ is where people go when they are teleported across the Realm for long distances. Dungeon Master would have used it as the fastest way to get you to where you are needed most. In this case you were sent to me, for I, too, am preparing to fight the evil newly arisen." He touched her shoulder, again on the opposite side as before, causing Diana to actually growl at him. He seemed unbothered by her reaction. "And the blindness will go. It is a result of the _Void_. People are affected different ways but I have yet to hear of a permanent disability from such travel. I do not think Dungeon Master would use a dangerous method to send you, Lady Diana."

"We need to find the others." Her voice was steady once more, the determination that was second nature to her helping her to push away the doubts and fears her handicap-temporary handicap she kept repeating to herself-had caused. Her companion didn't answer her and she tilted her head towards the last place she'd heard his voice. "Dekion? You can't leave me in the dark like this. If I can't see you, at least I can hear you. So talk to me."

The Celestial Knight, once a skeletal horror under a curse, now a noble countenanced man, nodded his head at the blind Acrobat. "We are not going to find the other Young Warriors."

"What!" She stood quickly, anger singing through her voice, her very blood.

"Patience, Young One," he soothed. Holding up a hand she couldn't see, the man sighed. "We will yet see them again, Lady Diana, but for now, our task is to research this evil. We are the ones who will find the information, map his movements and goals-we are the ones who will obtain the tactical information needed for the coming war."

The dark beauty stood still, her breath almost stopping in shock. "What did you say, Dekion?" The control, the calm of her words, was almost a shock in itself. She tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing. "Me? An athlete? Stay behind and look through books and maps? That is what you're saying, isn't it? That I'm to be used as a librarian!" Suddenly she exploded in frustration. "Not on your life, Buddy!" She didn't care how much like Eric she sounded, how whiney and ungrateful her reaction, she wanted to be doing something. "I didn't give up the chance to go home to sit on my butt and let others fight my battles! I'm going to find the others and we're going to take this guy down so we can go home for good!" Whirling around, uncaring if she stumbled over things in her blind haste, the young woman started making her way deliberately back the way they'd come.

Dekion's hand stopped her.

"You will walk off the cliff to your demise, Lady Diana, and no one's aid, if you continue on that path. Dungeon Master does not mean for you to remain out of the battle, Acrobat. He means for you to utilize your other gifts to aid in the coming war. He knows where your strengths lie."

Pausing, Diana asked in a voice as sullen as the Cavalier's had ever been, "Oh yeah? And what strength does he think I have in this, Dekion? Sheila could easily do the reading that he wants done." She felt a twinge of regret at the slight to her friend's battle prowess; however soft Sheila was, the Thief had never shirked her part.

With a deep rumble of laughter, Dekion smiled broadly at the unseeing woman. "He needs you to read the stars, Lady Diana. You, among the six, are the only one with enough star gazing to do that for him."

At the term _Star Gazing_, Diana flinched and started shaking her head, memories coming back in a rush of pain and desolation. Kosar. . .she'd lost him because of _Star Gazing_, and now Dungeon Master expected her to embrace this task whole heartedly? "I. . .I. . .Dekion, someone else. . ."

"There is no one else. Of all the Young Ones to come to this Realm, only two possessed the knowledge of the stars which is needed. Of those two, you are here. The other is not. Therefore, the task falls to you or we loose a much needed advantage." Dekion's voice softened. He didn't know why she shied from this task, but he could hear the loss in her voice, knew that someone she cared for had been hurt because of this skill. "If you utilize this ability, Lady Diana, you would be honoring the memory of your loved one. Would that person run from this task?"

Diana had never been a coward, but she had never wanted to run so much in her life. Dekion, however, was correct. Kosar wouldn't have shirked this duty, no matter how painful, or even how tedious, it was. He would have done it to help Dungeon Master and the Realm. She hung her head in acceptance but not defeat.

"I will do as you request, Dekion. I'll research the stars for this information, whatever it is. And after we gather everything we can," her head came up and determination glinted in her fine, chocolate eyes, "I will go into battle and defeat this guy, even if I do it single-handedly. I chose to stay and fight, but once this battle's done, I'm going home for good."

The Celestial Knight did not question her. There was no possible question he could ask. The Acrobat had made up her heart as well as her mind. And, after all, the warrior felt the same way about their assigned task, for he too wished to fight not read. With a silent touch to her arm, Dekion started guiding Diana until she could see.

The pair turned to start on their long journey in silence.

Continued in Chapter Four: Is Anybody Out There?


	4. Is Anybody Out There?

Title: Is Anybody Out There?

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 04 / 33

Rating: PG-13: A bit of angst, but nothing major.

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Sheila- 17; Varla- 17; Jaref- adult; Marinda- adult

Summary: Sheila's alone and that's never a good beginning for the Thief.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

It would have been more terrifying if she couldn't see perhaps. Sheila sat, looking around the eerily quiet swamp, biting her lip. She was trying valiantly to control the fear bubbling up within her. Fear wouldn't help; that'd been proven before. She had to remain in control-but it was so hard when she was utterly, unquestionably alone.

She had never liked being by herself, even as a child. When her parents had brought Bobby home from the hospital, instead of rebelling like most of her friends would have, she rejoiced. She would always have someone around her, would never be alone again. As she had grown older, Sheila had weaseled her way into every aspect of her little brother's life: not out of a need to control or dominate, but as a need to be with him. He'd accepted it, too, unaware that their closeness was probably not quite as normal as their parents seemed to let on.

But now, she'd sent Bobby home without her. It was perhaps the first time she hadn't had him there. Shaking her head, she corrected herself mentally. There had been a dozen or more times they'd been separated in the Realm. And both had come out fine. This time would be the same-if she wasn't alone.

With a sob, Sheila curled into a ball and tried to will her ears to hear something. Not even an insect in the trees overheard or the ripple of the stagnant, slow moving water around her. No sound. No movement. Nobody. She felt herself growing more desolate as she realized that she truly was alone, as she'd only ever been once before: in the tower where they'd retrieved the _Circle of Power_.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, feeling dejected but trying to control herself. What had brought her back to the others then? She had been alone, she was certain-then something happened and she'd rejoined them. No-rejoined _him_. Hank. Hank had called to her and proven she wasn't alone. And she'd felt so alive when she saw him standing before her, so very aware, perhaps really for the first time, how much she'd come to depend on him, rely on him-care about him.

Hank had been her savior then. Would he be here again?

Pushing to a sitting position in the fetid, wet marsh, Sheila looked around, squinting in the light from the four suns. She still couldn't hear, but she could see movement-why wasn't it making noise? There was a soft breeze in the leaves of the trees and the water was swirling very slightly around her. But her hearing was-gone? Had that numbing blackness deafened her? No! If she was deaf, she wouldn't hear Hank calling her, telling her she wasn't alone. And she so very much needed to be able to hear that.

Teal eyes widening in panic, she stumbled to her feet and whirled around in a circle, nearly falling in the sucking swamp below her feet. "Hank!" She screamed, but grew more frightened as even the sound of her own voice didn't penetrate the silence. "Diana? Presto? Eric? Dungeon Master? Hey, this isn't funny guys!"

Taking a cautious step forwards, Sheila quickly broke into an awkward plod across the horrible muck, nearly toppling into the water as she skidded to a halt by a huge mound. "I can't hear so you need to show me you're here. You know I hate being alone, guys!" She looked around again, but no other tracks were there. No other signs of Human life.

Suddenly it hit her. If she couldn't hear maybe they couldn't either. Something must have gone wrong with Dungeon Master's spell to deafen them all! Well, then that meant they weren't teasing her; they just couldn't hear her crying out to them.

Sheila breathed in relief, and with more confidence the young red-haired girl ran up the hill, eager for the sight of her comrades perhaps sprawled in the grime on the other side. However, upon reaching the top, she found that they weren't there. Nobody was. She was still alone in this out-of-reach swamp.

The desolation started to well up once more.

Tamping it down ruthlessly, insisting to herself that she'd merely gone the wrong way, that her friends were indeed close by, the Thief turned and headed back down the mound. She would try all four directions. One of them was bound to reveal the others. Thus, she began to plod and slip again.

After moments only, she realized she was on solid land. Her heart lurched as she saw beyond the copse of trees. There was no sign of Hank and the others but there was someone she knew-or more like some place she knew. A small cottage, on the very edge of a poor village sat quiet and comfortable, practically right in front of her. She let out a whoop she couldn't hear. She wasn't alone anymore!

Sheila pulled out of the muck heading straight for the familiar cottage. "Marinda! Jaref!" She waved her arms, hoping she was actually screaming, for she couldn't tell without her own hearing. Her efforts were rewarded by a gray-haired figure leaning out of the doorway. With a cry, Sheila sped up.

The woman smiled though her eyes were worried. She ran towards Sheila, her lightly shod feet much steadier on the still soggy ground of her native lands. Her mouth was open, calling something to her young friend, though Sheila couldn't make it out. For a moment just a sight of the kind older woman's smiling face was enough; understanding could wait.

Jaref slipped out the door after his wife, frowning softly but not denying the greeting. He strode forward, slow and methodical, as he watched their reunion, a pretty red-haired teen following close behind him. Finally, with a brief smile, he touched Sheila's shoulder and said something that fell on deaf ears.

Frowning, Sheila shook her head and said, "I can't hear. Dungeon Master sent me through some sort of dark spell and my hearing's gone-and so are the others." She looked around, sudden sadness welling up. "I wonder if he sent only me?"

In answer, Jaref lightly touched her head, drawing her attention to himself again. He gestured toward the cottage indicating she should enter it. Sheila didn't argue, obediently letting him help her inside, Varla entering behind her followed by Marinda. The family closed the door softly behind their unexpected, and lonely, guest.

xxx

"She's sleeping, Father."

Varla let the door swing softly shut behind her, closing off the darkened room where the newly rescued Thief lay and Marinda sat vigil. The Illusionist smiled at her father and turned towards the low table laden with fruits and vegetables. "She's still having trouble hearing me. What kind of spell would do that to her?"

The woodcutter let himself smile though he felt worried about the girl in the bedroom. Shaking his head, he reached for a fruit and started nibbling. "There aren't many spells I'm familiar with, Varla. But whatever was used has terrified the girl and separated her from her friends. I have never heard of Dungeon Master using a dangerous spell before." The thought bothered him.

Nodding, the girl sighed and helped herself to a fruit found only in her native swamp. "She wouldn't say much, Father, but she did say her brother Bobby was at their home now."

Jaref looked up sharply. "Isn't he the small one? Is he in danger?"

"I don't think so, Father. She sounded happy that he was gone away. She thinks he's safer there." Standing smoothly, gracefully, the teen made her way slowly around the table then sunk down next to her father. "She said that Venger has become good and she is here to fight a new evil."

He looked down at his daughter with a frown, not contesting the claim about Venger but not believing it either. "And she doesn't know where the others are? That's troubling." Jaref slipped a hand under his chin, fruit forgotten as he brooded over his guest's problems. It was a long time before the silence was broken.

"Varla, will you stay with her tonight? She seems to be afraid that she will wake up alone. Probably because the others are gone."

The girl looked up to meet the troubled eyes of her father with an understanding look of her own. She'd gathered as much when Sheila had all but panicked the first time Varla had attempted to leave her in privacy to rest. It was the reason Marinda sat with the girl. Gathering more fruit, Varla nodded and stood. "Of course, Father. She should not be alone just yet. She needs to know we're still here since she can no longer hear us." Leaning over, she quickly kissed his forehead then slipped back into the bedroom to relieve her mother and to watch Sheila while she slept.

With a sigh, Jaref went back to his pondering, absently touching the hand his wife placed on his shoulder. He shook his head and a suddenly sad voice broke from him. "Oh, Dungeon Master-when you said you would send me someone to help stop this evil, I did not think it would be a child again. What could you be planning? What could she do for us, injured and distracted as she is?" His wife did not respond, leaving him to his customary brooding.

Jaref slowly rose to his feet and began to clear up the food, the air about him heavy with the trouble of his weighted heart.

Continued in Chapter Five: Presto Change-o!


	5. Presto Change O!

Title: Presto Change-o!

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 05 / 33

Rating: PG-13: embarrassing situations

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Presto- 17, Ayisha- 17 going on 18; Ramuud- adult

Summary: Something is not quite right in Presto's world.

Note: I do not claim that Dungeon Master fathered the characters in this chapter; however, I do know the way Ramuud's speech patterns work. Thus references from here on out to DM being his father are merely his own phrasing and not references to a genuine blood relation. He also calls all children his children and men his brothers and women his sisters.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

With an uneven groan, Presto sat up and looked around. The light was blinding but at least it didn't seem to hurt. There was the soft whisper of a breeze over the sands he sat on. Frowning, the teen knew something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't pinpoint it. With a shake of his head, the Magician planted his hands in the ground and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet-and became glaringly aware of what the problem was.

He couldn't feel anything!

His hands had touched sand-and nothing, as if he'd touched air. He stood but couldn't even feel his legs. Golden eyes widening in horror, panic welling inside him, Presto looked down at himself then hurriedly around. Was he paralyzed? No-the seventeen year old tried to reassure himself. He was standing, even if he couldn't feel it.

Presto gulped, Adam's apple bobbing, as he glanced around again. Definitely a desert: he should be hot, the air should be hard and rasping, the sun should be glaring. With a frown, the idea hit him that he'd lost all sense of touch, not just in his legs and hands. He couldn't even feel the air coming into his nose or his stomach grumbling, as it had been doing since half an hour before meeting with Venger.

Venger! Could he have done this? Presto whirled around, falling to his knees with a grunt. He hadn't felt the hit but the sound was instinctive none-the-less. Thoughts of the former menace fled as frustrated tears filled his eyes. How was he supposed to get anywhere if he couldn't even walk? And the teen knew that walking would be difficult indeed, as he'd attempted it once when his legs had fallen asleep and numb. That had ended in disaster and so would this, he was certain.

With a frustrated sound, Presto carefully forced his way back to his feet, glad that at least he was steady if he didn't try to move much. Turning just his head, the redhead looked for any signs of life and was suddenly, horrifically aware that the others weren't with him. "Eric? Hank?" He looked again, hands spread in a futile attempt at counter-balance as he slowly turned in a circle. "Sheila? Diana?" With a frown, the Magician determined that he truly was alone. And, his quick mind told him: if he was alone it was very probable that the others were separated and alone as well. That wasn't good. Presto knew of Sheila's fears and it worried him that the Thief might be in need of help. And of course Bobby would-he cut off that thought, recalling thankfully that the young Barbarian had gone home. Then he frowned again as the memory of Uni came to him. The baby unicorn would need help wouldn't she?

Lost in thoughts of the others, trying to think of a way to save them, it was some moments before Presto became aware of the sound of large animals approaching. They had bells attached to their howdahs, which tinkled across the vast sands, alerting other travelers to their presence. However it wasn't the bells that alerted the teen; it was the voice of the animal driver.

"Greetings, My Son!"

"Ramuud?" Presto looked up, grinning widely. Forgetting his handicap momentarily in the excitement of seeing one of his favorite people in the Realm, Presto started running towards the man. He got perhaps three steps before, almost comically, his expression changed to one of shock. He'd missed his footing in his loss of sensation and went tumbling down the sand dune, head over heels, conical hat flying to the side. Presto landed in a heap at the feet of the desert King.

With a hearty laugh the man reached down to help the boy up, grinning at the antics of this child once he'd determined the boy was indeed unhurt. "Where are your brothers and sisters, My Son? Have you become separated once more?" The last time they'd met was when Bobby had been kidnapped. Ramuud's voice sounded merry, however, as if the separation wasn't a worry. He retrieved the hat and brushed it off before sitting it jauntily on the teen's head.

The man's jovial attitude made Presto smile. Things would be better with Ramuud here. With a small chuckle, the teen confided "they've probably been sent somewhere else. Dungeon Master said we needed to help rebuild the Realm and fight a new evil. Only," the Magician frowned, "Sheila's afraid to be alone. . ."

Smile dimming, the King nodded. "If you were sent to aid me in my quest, I believe your sister would have been sent to aid another. Come, My Son, travel with us inside and you shall rest."

"Us?" Presto turned his head gingerly to inspect the caravan then smiled again. He'd just become aware of the dark teenager who'd stuck her head out of one of the howdahs. "Ayisha!" This time he kept his head and stayed still, so was confused as to why he suddenly found himself flying to the ground.

"I am sorry, My Son. I forget my strength." Ramuud squatted down to aid Presto once more, a frown replacing his customary grin. Apparently he'd thumped the teen on the back and Presto hadn't felt it, though his body had reacted to the unexpected blow.

With a shake of his head, the redhead sadly informed Ramuud of his plight. "I think DM's spell may have gone wacky 'cause I can't feel anything at all. It's like I'm numb all over-even inside." He sighed, for some reason feeling as if _he_ were the one who'd messed up not the Dungeon Master.

A laugh burst forth from the man and he pulled Presto into his arms to carry him the rest of the way. "Then do not worry, My Son, for Dungeon Master has merely sent you through the _Void_. It is a space without end and it touches all places. When someone travels through it, he arrives alone and often with one or more of his own senses missing. At times it can even wipe the mind clear of things." Reassuringly he went on, to Presto's relief, "these effects last but a few hours-at the most days. Do not be afraid. You will feel again."

"My Father?" Ayisha's gentle voice intruded, though not unpleasantly. "I have heard of the _Void_ leaving a person blind for years before the magic wore off."

The King slid his burden into the howdah with his daughter and frowned a bit. "Where did you hear of such a tale, My Daughter?"

Ayisha smiled a bit at the attention from the two males but launched into her tale quickly enough to allay any suspicions about her motives for drawing the attention. "When I was in the City on the Edge of Midnight, My Father. I overheard someone say the _Void_ was like the light which took us. And someone else argued that the _Void_ leaves people hurt, sometimes for years, before its magic fades. It was said that only people in truly desperate need would use the _Void_." She smiled again at Presto, settling back for the coming ride.

Ramuud thought over that, closing the howdah side as he started the animals plodding along once more. He wondered if those were just the tales of frightened children, or if, indeed, the _Void_ might have caused lasting harm to the children he'd come to care about. Softly, he said aloud, "Ah, My Father, the need must be greater than I first thought if you would use such a method. Are my supplies and my contacts so very important to the Realm that you would risk a child to the _Void_?" He shook his head and moved off towards the front of the caravan, pondering the aide Dungeon Master had requested of him and the significance that he'd sent the Young Magician to him rather than any of the others.

xxx

"Your dad sounds like Dungeon Master sometimes, you know?"

Surprised, Ayisha turned to the teen next to her and smiled, tilting her head. "Does he? How so?" She'd never thought she'd get the chance to see the Young Ones again and here she was having a conversation with one of them. It wasn't Sheila, of course, but Presto wasn't a bad choice-after all, much as she liked him, it could have been the too-young Bobby sitting here with her.

"Well," Presto adjusted his glasses, or attempted to, succeeding in knocking them off his face, instead. With a sigh, he started trying to feel around while he continued. "Well, when he described that _Void_. He said, '_it is a space without end and it touches all places_.' That's like one of Dungeon Master's riddles. But it's easier to figure out Ramuud's riddles than Dungeon Master's." A gasp had Presto frowning and he froze, unsure what had happened since he couldn't see without his glasses. "Ayisha?"

The girl had frozen as soon as Presto's hand touched her hip. Trying to remain calm, reminding herself that the other teen couldn't feel where his hand was, she picked the offending limb up and moved it to his lap. Luckily his muscles were relaxed and she had no trouble manipulating his arm. "Do. . .do you need your lenses? They're on your lap."

Presto nodded and tried again to reach for them but sighed as he came to the realization that he might break them without knowing. "Uh..." flushing, he wondered just how he'd ask her help in this. "Uh. . .Ayisha? Uh. . .could you. . ." Presto stammered over the last bit, sounding illegible even to his own ears. His face flamed in embarrassment.

Apparently, however, the Princess understood for she smiled and plucked the glasses from the boy's lap, trying not to make a fuss. Then she slipped them onto his face. As his eyes came into focus, she nodded and sat back once more. "Better, Presto?"

"Uh. . .yeah." He turned to study the woven wall, trying to collect himself. He knew he wasn't interested in this girl; that wasn't the issue. It was the fact that she-for some strange reason-might get the idea that he was. Better explain things right off-but he'd never been good at expressing himself and didn't know how to begin. Clearing his throat the Magician determined to try. He turned back to find Ayisha smiling gently.

"It is all right, My Brother. This howdah is small and contact is inevitable. Do not think I will have designs on you, or feel you have designs on me, because of it. Is that what bothered you, Presto?"

Her gentle voice sent a shaft of relief through him and immediately he felt himself relaxing. Wait a minute! He felt-yes! He could feel his heart beating. With a laugh, the former nervousness all but forgotten, Presto lifted his hand, flexing his fingers. "I can feel-a bit. My heart-my breathing-oh, wow! Welcome back body!" He grinned at her. His companion laughed at his comments.

After a few minutes of goofy grins and silent amusement, Ayisha leaned forward and touched his arm. "Presto? You were talking of my father?"

Presto looked up, goofy grin still in place. "Uh-yeah." His voice cracked at the end, something that rarely happened anymore, but he was feeling so good he didn't care. "Actually, I wanted to know if you guys know anything about this evil Dungeon Master was talking about?"

The girl thoughtfully looked at her hands, staying silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded and spoke. "Yes. But not much. My father is gathering supplies for the coming war."

"War!" Presto felt himself pale, his head spinning slightly, and suddenly he wondered if it'd have been better to be numb right then.

"Yes, war. This evil is worse than Venger was and so war is inevitable. We will be supplying our allies, the allies of the Dungeon Master." She looked at the boy next to her, sadness in her liquid brown eyes.

The redhead groaned and put his head in his hands, not caring that he still couldn't feel externally. He shook his head, slipping off one numb hand, and whimpered deep in his throat. "War? What am I doing here?"

Continued in Chapter Six: Role Reversals


	6. Role Reversals

Title: Role Reversals

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 06 / 33

Rating: PG-13: violence, blood, and vomit

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Eric- 18; Surprise! You just guess.

Summary: Eric finds that protecting someone else isn't as easy as Hank makes it look. And his companion finds that traveling with the Cavalier alone is an education unto itself.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

The sense of falling made his stomach turn over, and he would have been in danger of losing breakfast had he managed to choke it down that morning. Instead, almost worse, Eric was wracked with dry heaves. He rolled onto his front, eyes squeezed shut, almost wishing he'd never been born. Certainly he wished he'd gone home when he'd had the chance. His biggest consolations were that Hank would be just as sick as he was and that he'd happily throttle the Ranger once he could get the world to stop spinning.

After several long minutes, sheer exhaustion drove the Cavalier into blissful unconsciousness, ending the bout of illness-at least temporarily.

xxx

When next he awoke Eric felt much better. He lay there, enjoying the sound of the babbling brook, the smell of flowers and clean grass, the feel of the warmth left over from the now set suns. When he chanced opening his eyes, he couldn't resist the smile in response to the near cloudless night sky. Stars dotted the heavens along with. . .

Eric sighed, the lazy joy evaporating as he realized he was, indeed, still in the Realm. Lifting a hand to run through raven locks, the teen turned his head to look for the others and found himself having to desperately grab the ground below him as the world seemed to lurch and tilt.

"What the-" he groaned, closing his eyes and trying to steady his stomach once more. Why was he so dizzy? "That runty jerk! I'll kill him if I ever stop spinning!" His oath was followed by another groan as he lay there trying to stay still.

xxx

It was a long time before the world eased its nauseating tumbling and Eric was once more able to open his eyes. He experimentally turned his head, fighting the vertigo and taking in the darkened landscape around him. It was unfamiliar, but that could have been due to the night or his renewed exhaustion. The Cavalier looked carefully to the other side then frowned.

Next to him, arms wrapped around bent legs, chin on her knees, was a lone figure. Dressed in shimmering white, hair cascading down her back until it brushed the ground where she sat, the girl appeared to be perhaps ten or eleven, if that. It was certainly nobody he recognized. It didn't bode well that no one else, his friends or hers, seemed to be anywhere in the vicinity. With a soft gulp, voice rasping at first, the teen asked, "Don't you have someone looking for you, Kid?" "Myeeah." the girl turned to look at him, the single word strange enough it took the Cavalier several minutes to realize she'd been saying yes.

Gingerly the teen sat but groaned and clutched the ground as he was hit with another wave of dizziness. He leaned his flushed face into his hands and tried not to start heaving again. The cool touch of the girl's pale hand soothed while confused him. Carefully lifting his head, Eric settled wary brown eyes on the child.

"What-" he gulped the nausea down, "what's your-name, Kid?" He tried to wipe at the cold sweat on his brow.

She blinked at him and he found, suddenly, that he wished there were more light so he could see her clearly. "Yeanee."

"Yeanee?" Eric tried to copy the odd sounding name and found it sounded more like a braying horse. Frowning, he realized that the girl had also sounded sort of like she was braying when she said it. Leaning closer to inspect her, he was overcome with a wave of dizziness and fell against her, passing out once more.

The child caught him with a bleat of shock then whimpered helplessly as the teen's dead weight threatened to pin her down. With fear tempering her voice, she cried out in a wordless sounding wail, "Meeyal!" Then she fell backwards under the Cavalier, helpless and scared. She tried catching her breath, blowing through her lips in an odd sign of her efforts. The slight-framed girl pushed, repeatedly rocking the taller, heavier teen, until she finally rolled him off.

With a moan, she collapsed back against the ground again and blinked up at the stars. "Myull-" she complained to herself, then glanced at the youth beside her. Shaking her head slightly, she sighed again and looked back at the sky, letting herself drift a bit, knowing she needed to keep awake. However, the efforts she'd extended had been too much and the girl fell into a discontented sleep.

xxx

The sounds of rustling in the nearby trees stirred the pair to consciousness. Eric was first to open his eyes, frowning and trying to identify what he heard. Suddenly, the girl was awake, letting out a bleat of shock and jumping, almost inhumanly quick, into the trees. Eric frowned as he struggled to turn over, again fighting nausea, and wondered when he'd finally get rid of the dizziness. "Oh yeah, run when the going gets a bit tough, Kid."

He didn't mean it of course. He would feel better if that kid was safe at home and he didn't have to worry about her. As it stood, now he had to protect the girl and he knew he was in no condition to do so. "Never a break in this place. Stupid runt. Betcha he gave me the flu or something just so he could sit back and get some giggles."

Standing unsteadily, pale and weaving, the Cavalier fought his illness to try to concentrate on the rustling, which had grown rather than vanishing. After only moments of listening, he determined it was coming from all around-meaning whoever it was had surrounded them while he had been occupied with balance. Curling his lip in a sort of snarl, the Cavalier lifted his shield and called out, "Show yourselves."

"Show selves." The voice was guttural and very familiar, causing Eric to wish he'd run like the kid. He tried to set himself so he could stand steadier as several Orcs came out of the trees around his glade. They were grinning and laughing crudely, enjoying the fact that they'd finally caught one of the Young Ones off guard. "You pris'ner now." With a wave of his arm, the lead Orc signaled the group to attack the lone human.

Eric was suddenly glad the kid had bolted. He knew he'd have a hard time staying still enough to repel the coming attack, even with the force in his shield. Desperately, he tried to think of a way to get away from the enemy, without drawing them towards the helpless child. His thoughts were cut short by the launching of several Orcs towards him, clubs and swords raised to attack.

Screaming, Eric stumbled backwards with the first slam of the Orcs. He lost his balance with the wave of vertigo, hitting one knee but raising the shield high to protect his head. Another Orc slammed against the shield, apparently uncaring that he was forced back, laughing as another flung himself and was thrust backwards.

What the heck was going on? Why were they toying. . .Eric's eyes opened wide. They were trying to wear him down! They sensed his weakness. He couldn't last just kneeling there; he'd grow too weak in the end fighting them and his own body. He had to...

All thoughts and plans were cut off as a war cry was heard. More like the sound of an enraged horse charging into battle, but the teen hardly cared who it was, as long as the guy could help. Unfortunately, it was the little girl, still shrouded in the misty pre-dawn darkness and making her wordless horse cry as she leapt out like some avenger of nature. With another loud cry, she charged into the middle of the confused Orcs, head bent low as if she were going to butt them. She whirled at the center of the enemy and made a show of butting against one, knocking him into his surprised fellow and sending both to the ground.

"You crazy kid!" Eric pushed to his feet, fighting the wave again and determining that some ten year old nut with a horse fetish wouldn't outdo him. "Get out of here! They'll kill you, Stupid!" He charged in, weaving on his feet but remaining standing at least. The teen managed to take down three Orcs in one barreling attack, head on, pushing with his force field as he ran.

Amid shouts from the Orcs, odd sounds from the kid, and stifled groans and panting from the Cavalier, the fight became a confusing mass of dark-swept bodies clashing into one another. One Orc actually got so mixed up he started choking his fellow and had to be knocked out by his own leader. The leader, however, had more on his mind than stupid underlings. He turned towards the kid, whose back was turned towards him, and raised his sword high.

Seeing the danger the kid was in, and knowing that his dizziness and distance would prevent him diving in front of her in time, Eric tried something he'd never thought he'd ever do with his magic shield. He threw it away. More precisely, he threw it directly at the Head Orc, staying as still as he could so he could aim. "Yunay! Watch it, Stupid!" He flung himself afterwards, hoping to reach her in time, despite what he knew of battles from three years in the Realm.

The girl looked up in time to see the shield slam into the Orc. With a scream, the girl's eyes widened and she stood stock still, paling considerably more than she had been. She passed out, unaware that the Orcs had a sudden reversal in morale and took off running, their decapitated leader left behind.

Eric fell into a tumble ending up right next to the body of the Orc he'd killed. He pushed himself to his knees, hands planted on the torn ground where he'd slept only minutes before. Looking at the leader, his dizziness fading as he remained still, the Cavalier paled as much as his companion had. He'd never killed anything before, even an enemy bent on destroying him. In another wave of sickness, this one unrelated to his balancing problems, the teen doubled over and began retching, wishing somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd remained in bed that morning three years ago instead of going to a stupid amusement park.

xxx

"Airrekkk. . ."

"Yeah, kid?"

"Nyair?"

"Whatever, kid."

Eric leaned heavily on the young girl, needing the support she provided to counter his balance problem. He'd finally figured out that the teleportation had screwed up his sense of balance and that was why he was constantly dizzy. Not being diseased was small consolation, however, in the light of the battle they'd just had.

It was beginning to lighten in the east and the pair had been stumbling along for the better part of an hour. After Eric had recovered sufficiently, he had managed to pull himself over to his companion and check on her, fighting the weakness he'd acquired. Finding her alive and intact, he'd ruthlessly woken her up and demanded she help him find water to clean up. She'd done so without complaint, avoiding looking at the body they left behind.

Now they were walking, trying to find a town or village or even just a lonely cottage to settle in for some much deserved rest. The girl was still unintelligible in her odd speech, and Eric thought she might be speaking a foreign language. For his part, he was attempting to understand but it was getting more and more annoying to be bothered with questions and comments he had no clue about. For all he knew she could be berating him and insulting him, and he didn't like that one bit.

"Airrekkk. . ." she tried again.

Sighing, he stopped and nearly fell as she continued on a couple of steps, unprepared for his sudden stop. "What?" His voice was impatient, strained. His hands were on his hips, feet spread, body swaying precariously as vertigo overcame him once more.

The girl looked up at him and tilted her head, blowing through her lips in the habit she apparently had to show annoyance. "Airrekkk. . .Airukk. . .Earrick. . ." Frustrated, she shook her head and stamped a foot. Her long hair rippled around her, sleek and silky.

Suddenly Eric realized what she was trying to say. "_Eric_? Are you saying _Eric_?" He found himself grinning rather stupidly. So the kid was trying to say his name; why should that make him feel so proud? It wasn't as if it was one of the harder names in the book, after all. "Try again," he instructed encouragingly.

"Earrick. . .Airriik. . .Airk. . ." It sounded, finally, like she was saying Air but ending it with a k sound.

"Close enough, kiddo." He threw her another grin as he once more slipped an arm over her shoulder to let her help him. "Now, if I could figure out how to say your name without sounding like a horse in heat, we'd be doing great. Let me try-" Then he thought about it. "Uh, what's your name again, anyway, Kid?"

Her answer was prompt and sounded every bit as encouraging as he had. "Yeanee." She turned a smile up at her savior.

Eric grinned and nodded, noticing that he could start making out her features-that is until he'd stupidly nodded like that. He was hit with a wave of dizziness which made him stumble and drag her down to her knees along with him. Clutching at the ground, panting and fighting the nausea, Eric gasped out, "Stupid runt!"

"Myea?" She seemed indignant and pulled back.

The Cavalier froze suddenly. Slowly, he blinked his eyes and moved his head gingerly to look at the girl kneeling next to him. That sound-it couldn't be possible! With doubt in his eyes, he watched as the sun crested the hill behind them and showered light over the entire scene.

The girl was pale, extremely so, with maroon eyes, point-tipped ears and bright, fiery hair. She was graceful, Elfish in appearance, and so very slim she looked like she might blow away. Her white clothes were made of softest suede, a form fitting trousers suit that seemed almost to blend into her skin, with half boots to match. But it wasn't her appearance that had Eric so bewildered. It was her voice, her speech, her words. And right before he passed out again with the vertigo, he gasped out one word of his own:

"_Uni_?"

Continued in Chapter Seven: Worlds Apart


	7. Worlds Apart

Title: Worlds Apart

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 07 / 33

Rating: PG-13: temper tantrums, nothing major

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Lorne- 15; Kosar- 19 going on 20

Summary: Two very different orphans, having found two very different homes, find themselves thrust into a partnership they never thought would be needed.

Note: For those who are unaware, a psionicist is someone who uses mental energy to produce physical or mental results. Some of these would be telepathy, telekinesis, or clairaudience. However, not all psionicists rely on the more famous 'ESP' techniques. Some of them have been known to molecularly convert energy or such to use in teleportation, healing, body manipulation, and even acid production. The range of abilities is wide and varied, and not every psionicist has access to every field of the science.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

With a heavy sigh, the dark haired youth ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Frowning, he put his thin shoulder to the back of the wagon and again pushed. The wooden structure slipped a bit in the thick mud but settled back into the deep rut. Lorne gasped, slipping himself, and barely caught himself before he landed in the sticky muck. Trying to gain some breath, the teen leaned his head against the back of the wagon, limbs shaking in his efforts, rasping breath forcing its way in and out of abused lungs.

"I can't get it-need to try something else-" his eyes were closed as he called to his adopted family, the gypsies who'd taken him in half a year ago. "Maybe if we unload. . ."

When no answer came, the teen's eyes snapped open and he pushed to a standing position, shocked to see he was no longer on the open plains trying to free a stuck wagon. He was, instead, in a wooded glen, a tree being what he'd just pushed from. "What! Wait a minute!" He whirled around and came, frowning, face-to-face with Dungeon Master. Lorne drew his breath in sharply.

The old man smiled gently and nodded. "You are needed once more to help the Realm, Young One."

"What? Help-but, Dungeon Master, last time I didn't help the Realm. I used that stupid talisman to nearly hurt everyone." He frowned, crossing his arms. "And I nearly was orphaned forever. What could I possibly do to help you this time?" The sarcasm was starting to show itself, habitual, a self-defense mechanism from years of fending on his own.

With that same age-old smile of knowing, the little man started walking, noticing that the fifteen year old fell into step quickly behind him, arms dropping to his side. "You helped the Young Ones last time. Now, you will help the world you live in. Great evil arises, and great warriors are needed." If he hadn't fallen silent, he would have been cut off anyway as Lorne exploded.

"Warrior! Me? You have got to be kidding! Who ever said I was a warrior, Dungeon Master?" He shot an incredulous look at the shorter being. "All I ever wanted was to find a home, a family. I've got that now." He looked around and frowned, "if you'd just send me back to them."

The man turned to the boy, sorrow on his face, seriousness in his wise eyes. "You may go back to them if you choose-or you may save their lives if you choose."

Lorne froze, horror dawning on his face as the old mage's words processed through his mind. "Save them?" He turned and grabbed the man by his robes, desperation erasing respect and caution. "Where are they? You've gotta let me go back and help them! They're all I have, Dungeon Master!"

With that same timeless sadness, the man gently laid his hands over the teen's, soothing and sure. He smiled up at the boy, though the smile did nothing to ease the look in his eyes. He stroked once and noted approvingly that Lorne began to relax a bit at the caress. "They are over that rise in the distance."

Letting go of the Dungeon Master's red robes, Lorne turned to start running for his gypsy family's trains. The man's next words brought him up short, though.

"However, going to them now will not save them, Young One."

The dark haired youth slowly turned towards the white haired elder.

"Your aid is needed far from here. You are more helpful in collecting together the warriors of the Realm, gathering them together for the war to come. Only by bringing the many to the one will you have the means to save your family."

Lorne slowly walked back to Dungeon Master's side. He frowned, thinking that over. Suddenly, looking at the man from the corner of his eyes and fighting a sarcastic tug of a smile, the boy griped, "Now you pick a time to give clear riddles?"

The man laughed softly, his eyes lighting ever so slightly. "You are much like him, My Friend."

"If by that comment you mean that stupid _Caviar_, you have got to be kidding!" But it pleased Lorne to be compared to his friend, Eric. He nodded. "Well, I'm much braver and smarter than he is, so what do I got to do?" He glared down at the shorter being.

With a smile, approval rippling across his old features, the man spoke. "You must gather the _Children of Power_. You must bring them to the one who holds the weapons. Then, and only then, will you have the might to fight the evil on the horizon."

In disgust, Lorne shook his head. "And I thought your riddles were clear? What's all that supposed to mean?"

"You will know when the time is right, Young Gypsy."

The world spun into darkness, cold and soul filling, and Lorne screamed soundlessly before he lost all consciousness.

xxx

The world came into focus.

Frowning, the tall teen looked around, recognition not coming with the sights and sounds. There were vast plains in front of him but nothing of significance came to mind when looking over the waving grass. All he knew was that this was not home.

A soft thump behind him had the teen whirling around in surprise. There, where he had apparently fallen, lay another, younger teen. The boy had dark hair and was shorter, stockier than he was. Kosar knelt and touched the pale face. "Wake up-"

His voice was a soft almost echoing whisper and the teen tried again. "Wake up," he touched the boy's throat, relieved at finding a strong pulse.

With a groan, Lorne turned over and opened his eyes. A whirl of sensations washed over him, then steadied, and he found himself looking up at an older boy. With a frown, he realized it wasn't Eric or any of the other six he'd thought of as the Young Ones. This teen wasn't anyone he recognized at all. In fact, the most distinguishing fact about the boy was that he could be described as _soft_.

"Can you sit up?" the soft, almost far-away voice barely reached Lorne's ears, but he somehow understood just the same. Forcing himself to a sitting position, the teen grimaced. "Stupid Dungeon Master! Could warn a guy before sending him into-wherever that was." He looked at the brown-dressed, brown-skinned teen. "Who are you?"

Kosar smiled, suddenly aware that he must be back in the Realm if this boy was talking about Dungeon Master. Idly he wondered how much time had passed since he'd left for his _new_ home. "My name is Kosar. What is yours?"

"Lorne." The dark-haired boy looked around. "So where are we?"

Shaking his head, also looking around, the older teen admitted to not knowing. He aided Lorne to stand and thoughtfully asked, "Were you sent also through the _Void_?"

The question sent a shaft of panic through the Gypsy, and he paled considerably. "V. . ._Void_? You have got to be kidding!" Lorne's protest strengthened at the last and he turned dumbstruck eyes up to his companion. He'd heard about the _Void_ his entire life. It was a place invoked in horror stories or in the stories parents used to get their children to behave.

The brown-haired boy shook his head. "No. I am sure I came through the _Void_ here. It is one of only three ways to get into, or across, the Realm, after all." He frowned worriedly, wondering why he suddenly couldn't remember the other two methods of transporting such long distances.

With a growl, Lorne brushed aside Kosar's personal thoughts, dragging him back to their real situation. Spinning around, the younger teen glared at the plains. "I don't know whether to kill that guy or be impressed. I always through the _Void_ was a horror story to scare little kids." He glanced at Kosar. "So, where'd you get drug from?"

"Another world, Lorne." He, too, looked around. "We should move from here. This place is unprotected." Then, Kosar glanced nervously at the four suns directly overhead. Something nagged at him, but he couldn't quite place the worry.

Lorne shrugged. "Okay. Let's get moving. I hear a stream. Let's follow it. Towns are always near streams." He had learned much from his gypsy brethren, even in the short time he'd been with them. The dark-haired teen moved off, grinning in a superior fashion when Kosar quietly followed him.

"Well, I don't know why he threw me here, but Dungeon Master wants me to find the Children of Power. So, I guess I'll let you tag along if you want, Kosar." Lorne's smile was smug.

Kosar nodded, excitement filling him. "Yes, I would like that, Lorne. I-knew the Children of Power once, and would like to see them again." Especially one of them-but he kept that last close to his heart. "Cannot the Dungeon Master find the Young Ones on his own?" He didn't mind letting the younger boy take the lead, as he apparently knew where he was going and what mission he was on. For what Kosar knew, he was a fish out of water.

Laughing, Lorne shrugged. "Yeah, I guess he could. But he said I've got to gather them, so I guess they've been split up. There's a big fight," and the teen grew somber instantly, "and they have the weapons to end it. I'm supposed to bring them together for the fight. I'm glad you know who we're looking for though."

The two teens walked in silence for long moments, each lost in his own thoughts. Unfortunately, Lorne stepped into a swift-running stream, yelping as he jumped back, eyes narrowed. "Now why didn't I smell the water getting closer!" It was more demand than inquiry, and one Kosar didn't have an answer for anyway. "Stupid _Void_!" The answer had come quickly enough to Lorne. "It robs people of stuff, like memories and senses. That creep sent me through the _Void_ and now I can't smell!"

Kosar looked sympathetically at the boy, wondering privately what he'd lost in the trip, if Lorne was as knowledgeable as he claimed.

"Hey!" Lorne had just become aware that he'd lost more than one natural gift. "I can't taste the wind, either!" He started ranting about the necessity of those senses in getting by in life, and how some people just didn't bother warning a guy when robbing him of something.

"Perhaps if you were to calm down, Lorne, we would be able to continue. I am sorry for your losses, but you will draw attention to us with your tantrum." Kosar's voice had remained soft and calm, and it was a wonder that Lorne, still screaming about injustice, had heard him at all.

But, for some reason, Lorne had heard the other boy, and shot a poisonous glare at him. "Oh yeah? You try living without your senses, buddy." He looked around, and turned. "So, which way do we go, Kosar? _You_ tell _me_, since you're so all-knowing."

With a smile, Kosar nodded. He'd always been good with directions, star reading, and even guesswork if needed. Glancing up one side of the stream then down, however, the smile started fading. He realized that he couldn't actually tell upstream from downstream. He tried to find north then and started to worry when he couldn't recall how to tell the directions of the compass. As a last effort, he looked to the suns to tell him his location-and drew a complete blank on how to utilize them for navigation. Turning panicked eyes on his frowning companion, he whispered, "I. . .can't remember how. . .to tell the direction. . ."

Lorne yelped in anger. "You mean we're lost? You big buffoon! Can't even figure out east from west? Why in the world am I letting you tag along!" The Gypsy looked at the sky and pointed to the suns. "Suns rise in the east, dolt, and sets in the west. All four of them do." Then he pointed to the stream. "The water runs downstream and comes from upstream." Again pointing, he singled out a tree. "Moss grows thickest on the north side of a tree." Muttering, Lorne started off, going upstream.

Blushing, worrying about his sudden lack of directional knowledge, Kosar followed the angry child.

xxx

The suns were setting as the pair trudged wearily into a small town of closely positioned huts. Thatched roofs and poorly cared-for fences marked them as a group of people of very limited means. In fact, the villagers seemed to be completely absent from the rundown little village.

"I don't like this," Lorne griped.

Kosar, having come to the conclusion that the _Void_ had robbed him of his most precious sense, direction sense, nodded. "It is too quiet. The village may be deserted." He sighed at the idea that he was completely dependant on the sarcastic youth to prevent him getting lost.

"Big help that'll be." The teen led his older companion through the only street, not bothering any of the houses. He was too used to being rejected to attempt walking boldly to a closed house. When they came to the other side of the village, a horrifying shock awaited them.

Graves. Twenty or more graves were set in a big plot right outside of town. There were falling down boards with names scratched in, and dozens of abandoned shovels-as if someone had been preparing to use them soon. The earth on many of the graves was still freshly turned.

Lorne stopped, causing Kosar to run right into him. The older boy steadied them both by laying his hands firmly on the shorter boy's shoulders. Both stared in horror at the scene of death before them.

"Plague!" Lorne turned panicked eyes on Kosar. "This town has plague! We've got to get out of here before we catch it!" He tugged at the older boy's arm and started towards the nearby trees, whimpering, "And anyone downstream of them's going to catch it in the water!"

Kosar frowned, shaking his head, even as he allowed himself to be led off. "It doesn't feel like plague, Lorne. I think something else killed those people. Stop-think about it-" He finally pulled to a halt, causing Lorne to stumble and turn, eyes frightened.

"If that had been a plague town, who could have buried the last bodies? No one would have been strong enough, Lorne. Whoever buried the dead left the town recently. Why? Why leave loved ones and homes behind if you were going to die soon anyway?"

"I don't know. I don't care. I ain't getting caught in whatever. . ."

"Exactly." The confident reply shut the boy up. "Get caught. Whoever left there went to battle or hide-from something which deliberately came in and killed the townsfolk. That fight you said was going to happen? I think it's already begun."

Lorne wailed, "No! I haven't even found any of the _Children of Power_ yet!"

With a mysterious smile, Kosar felt an inspirational flash. He laughed softly and touched the other teen's shoulder. "Oh, but you have found one, Lorne. You've found me-_the Psionicist_."

Continued in Chapter Eight: Memory Games


	8. Memory Games

Title: Memory Games

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 08 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Horrifying imagery, though nothing really graphic

Setting: Late Spring 1986: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragon

Characters & Ages: Hank- 18 going on 19

Summary: The final Young One has to rediscover himself before he can move on.

Note: Some of the information Hank gives about himself is incorrect, so please don't take it as cannon. For instance, in my time continuum, Hank is a winter-baby, not a spring-baby. Just thought I'd let you know.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Rolling over, a frown fixed on his face, the blond man studied the unfamiliar sky. It was daytime, as denoted by the four suns in the sky, and it was perhaps springtime, as denoted by the breeze in the greening trees. However, as he turned his head from one side to the other, the young man noted that he didn't recognize anything around him. A new place, then.

Standing up, brushing himself off, he again looked around, a slight frown on his face. He was alone in a grassy meadow. It was peaceful, beautiful, and relaxing. Somehow that didn't feel right. Unable to shake the impression that something was wrong, the young man picked up the unstrung bow at his feet and frowned at it. He shook his head then started off in a random direction, unsure what he was looking for, but unable to simply sit and stare into the blue sky, either.

As he walked, the man puzzled over his purpose in the wilderness. Shaking his head, eyes widening, he realized that he really didn't know. He had no idea why he was there or why he was alone. Hunting? Didn't feel right and with an unstrung bow, he glanced at the seemingly useless piece of weaponry, that really didn't make sense. Traveling home?

With a tilt of his head, he thought that one over. Sounded closer, but-stopping stock still, the blond realized he had no idea where home was. Spinning around, trying to get some indication of where he should go, he felt overcome with a sudden wave of panic. He not only didn't know which way to go; he couldn't remember anything about home.

A groan escaped the man and he brought a strong, callused hand to his forehead, pale blue eyes closing as he tried to concentrate. A few minutes of trying to remember what he didn't know didn't help, so he instead tried to list what he did know. Name-Hank. A smile crossed his handsome features and he nodded. That was a start.

Hank looked around, letting his hand thrust slowly through shoulder-length blond hair. Absently, he did it again. Okay, age? With a grin, he realized that maybe this question and answer session with himself was a bit juvenile, but it sure did ease the tension. Okay, age-eighteen. His eyes opened wide in surprise. He'd just turned eighteen if it was springtime. Whoa!

Looking around, feeling much calmer, Hank spotted a stream. Okay-let's see if he could figure any of the missing things out by looking at himself. He sprinted lightly over to the swift moving water and knelt down, eagerly searching the face revealed to him. A frown crossed the blond's features and he shook his head. That face was totally unfamiliar to him-and that was more terrifying than. . .

The memory of a terrifying thing went so quickly it hadn't even had a chance to begin. That frustrated the man and he frowned, glaring thoughtfully into the water as he fought to recall the fleeting image. He had to give up, reminding himself that he was recalling the easy stuff first. But he was still bothered by not being able to recognize himself. How had he gotten that way and why?

Turning around, his back to the water, Hank let himself slip down onto his butt. He looked down at the bow in his hands and his frowned deeper. Why an unstrung bow and no arrows? What could the purpose in carrying a useless weapon be? Was it sentimental, perhaps? He had no other supplies with him, so why bring a bow instead of food or something else useful? Why go on a journey at all, especially unprepared?

"Stop it, Hank!" He shook his head, continuing to talk to himself aloud. "This is getting you nowhere. You're going in circles-and now your talking to yourself. Great." The man fell silent and looked out across the meadow with unseeing eyes. He drew a deep breath, calming himself once more, and started again.

"Okay-I know I'm Hank and eighteen-and my birthday's in the spring. What else do I know?" He let his eyes close and his mind drift. Slowly, he recognized the image of a young child, also blond, in his memories. Brother? Seemed right. So, he had a brother. But Hank couldn't figure out anything more about the kid, even a name, than that he was a younger brother and blond. It was, however, something.

Pushing to his feet, the man looked once more at his reflection in the water. "I don't know how you got into this, Buddy, but I'll get you out of it." He turned his left side to the stream and started heading towards the green trees in the distance, smiling as he realized he was able to get around in the wilderness even if he couldn't recall where he wanted to go.

xxx

People stopped their everyday tasks to watch the attractive young man who entered their small village. He smiled at them in a welcoming way, but they merely stared, not greeting him at all. Surprisingly enough, it didn't dampen the man's smile. He continued nodding to people, smiling, and walking down the road. Some started following him in wary curiosity.

Hank knew instantly that these people had never met him before. There was no recognition in their expressions, just curiosity. He continued to smile, reminding himself that he needed as much help as he could get and knowing that a smile would pave ways faster than even a neutral expression. Nodding to one elderly lady, Hank turned his head to smile at a young man. On he continued, down the single street, searching in his mind for some way to approach these people without seeming like a beggar.

Thoughts of helping himself, however, flew from his mind as he noted an old man stumble from his house under a heavy load. Hank immediately deviated his path to offer the elder assistance, receiving a shocked look from not only the man, but from nearby townspeople who had watched this unusual display. Whispers began as Hank carefully took the burden and smiled at the man, asking softly, "Where should I bring it for you?"

The older man frowned, reaching for his bundle, but suddenly stopped at the sight of Hank's bow. He froze, eyes widening. "You-you can carry it over the street there, lad." He seemed intrigued as he followed Hank across the road to a larger, airy house.

Others watched, awed suddenly by the action, though Hank couldn't figure out why at first. He did, however, begin to understand a little when he overheard the words '_bow_' and '_power_' in passing. So it was the fact that he appeared to be a warrior that had them in a buzz, was it?

At the other side of the street, Hank turned and smiled at the man. The elderly figure frowned and gestured to a shelf outside the house, watching closely as the younger blond put it down and stepped back. Before the young man could say anything, however, the old man touched his bow and grinned widely.

"So, you are the Ranger, are you?" He looked smugly at the rest of the townspeople who started buzzing in more excitement and approaching the pair. They all seemed intent on Hank now, actually smiling in a welcoming way. "We've been waiting for you, Lad."

Tilting his head, smiling himself, Hank shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sorry I took so long, but I've a problem. I can't remember-anything. Have we met before?"

With a laugh that made the crowd jump, the man shook his head. "No, not at all. But we were told that we should watch for the Ranger who could pass this way. We're to tend to you, Lad."

"Really?" Hank looked around, pale blue eyes taking in the widely smiling faces now. He felt strange, however. This town seemed to expect him, welcome him, but it didn't seem-right somehow. It felt-off. He looked back to the old man, frowning softly.

"Yes, you see a war is brewing, Lad, and you've been sent-to aid people. We're caught in the middle, you see, and have no way of protecting ourselves. You-" he reached to touch the bow again though Hank pulled it back this time. The man shrugged, eyeing Hank with a gleam as he continued "are the insurance we need to survive. You will help us."

Hank shook his head and tried to back out. He found himself blocked in by people, however, all smiling in that same welcoming-no-_hungry_ manner. These weren't friendly townspeople at all! The blond ducked into the house, slamming the door and pulling a chair in the way as from somewhere the lost knowledge came that they were something which fed off of wandering strangers.

He heard a sound behind him and whirled, instinctively raising his bow and reaching for the string. The old woman in the room hesitated from where she'd been approaching. Hank was just as surprised as he felt a string humming with energy right below his fingers. He couldn't see it, but that didn't stop him from pulling back on it, relying on feel at that moment.

Suddenly, his bowstring lit up with golden electrical energy, an equally bright arrow appearing, humming in his fingers. Not questioning why or how, the Ranger held up his bow, aiming right at the woman. His voice was strong and sure, despite the confused panic welling up inside. "Stay back. I don't want to hurt you. I only want to leave this town."

The woman nodded, holding up old, wrinkled hands, and staying still. She then nodded her head towards the back door, watching him intently. The look in her eyes was not frightened or even hungry; it was respectful and pleased.

The Ranger kept his arrow knocked, his bow at the ready, as he slowly walked towards the woman in order to get to the door. As he eased past her, he was surprised to hear a calm, soft voice call out to him.

"When you leave this town, Young Ranger, do not look back until you've crested the hill. If you do, you will be in their spell, unable to leave forever."

He stopped and turned to look at her, easing his arrow a bit and frowning. Studying her, he asked, just as softly, "What do you mean? How do these people know me? Who are you-who am I?" His eyes pleaded for answers; his heart begged for an ally.

With a soft smile, the woman answered him. "You are the Ranger: one of the _Children of Power_. These people are not here and neither am I. We are all part of a trap to bind you here. You were sent across the _Void_; your eyes tell as much. This place is not what it seems, but your future journeys will be filled with more hope."

"I-I don't understand."

The woman lowered her hands and sighed. "You are on a long journey to end a great evil, this much your heart knows. Your mind may not remember you, but your heart never forgets, Young One. I cannot tell you what you do not already know. I can only tell you what you recall." She watched the frustration and confusion in his eyes, followed by a faint hint of recognition before it flew again. "You have encountered evil in this meadow, Ranger, and will encounter us again. But not all evil is corrupt and not all enemies are out to harm you. Remember, Child, that you have the power inside of you-a power that even your bow cannot match."

Still not understanding, Hank opened his mouth to ask more when a terrific thumping at the front of the house startled them. He turned, raising his bow once more, but the woman shook her head and gestured to the back entrance.

"Leave, Young One, before you cannot. I will not be harmed; relieve your mind and heart of that burden. But you must go before they come through that door. Go, and do not look back before you crest the hill!" She desperately made shooing motions at him, still not touching the young man.

He blinked. In a split second, however, instinct took over and he fled, trusting her to be telling the truth somehow. Opening the back door, aware that other villagers were circling into the yard, he took off towards a distant hill. The sounds of wailing and horrific screams followed him, but he obeyed the woman's stricture and did not even dare a glance. Somewhere inside he hoped the woman was right and that she wouldn't be hurt for helping him.

At the top of the hill, Hank was suddenly aware that the noises had ceased abruptly. He bent double, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. It was several tense moments, still expecting an attack, before the man turned slowly and looked down at the place he'd come from. What he saw sent a chill right through him.

There, where just a few minutes ago had been a peaceful village, stood a blackened circle of barren earth. The burnt out structures of a town were still dotted hear and there, but the sight of grave markers in the shape of a huge circle, surrounding the destroyed town, was more eerie than anything the man could ever imagine. Somehow, despite his amnesia, Hank knew that he'd just passed through a cursed area. . .one created by whatever evil the woman confirmed he was sent to fight. He also noted that there was one burnt building which had flowers growing by the blackened door: that woman's home.

With a shudder, the young man turned to begin on a cautious journey, pondering what that place had taught him-and what he had yet to learn.

Continued in Chapter Nine: Looking Back


	9. Looking Back

Title: Looking Back

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 09 / 33

Rating: PG-13: angst

Setting: Autumn 1992: Earth

Characters & Ages: Terri- 18

Summary: Terri has to fight the memories of Bobby in order to continue on with her own life and make a difficult decision.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Letting herself into the house by the back door, using the key she'd been given some years before, the black-haired girl stopped on the threshold. She covered her mouth, holding back the sob as best she could. Tears filled her eyes, and she couldn't see the blurred kitchen before her, too lost in her grief to care.

A woman with strawberry-blond hair, dressed in the clothes she'd worn to the magazine editorial office where she worked, stood up, frowning, and went to the girl. Slipping her arms around the crying teen, she looked silently towards the door, waiting for the girl's companion to enter. He didn't and a sudden welling of instinctive fear took hold of the waiting mother.

"Terri? What's happened? Where's Bobby?" She shook the girl, her voice on the verge of tears. Fighting the worry and fear, the woman shook her son's best friend again. "What happened to Bobby, Terri? Where is he?"

Terri shook her head, lifting denim blue eyes to the woman. "I. . .he. . .he. . ." How could she explain? How could she do this to this woman who'd already lost one child. How did she explain that Bobby had voluntarily left? "Bobby-said he was going to find-Sheila-"

It was the best she could do, but still it drew a scream of disbelief from the other woman. With a sob, Terri wrapped her arms around the older woman, knowing the doubt and confusion would eventually evolve to anger then acceptance then grief. Mrs. O'Neil had lost her son that day as sure as she'd lost her daughter eight years before.

The entrance of the blond man in the baseball jersey and sweat suit drew both females up sharp. However, as it was an older man with confusion in his eyes the woman sobbed again. She broke away from the teen and went to her husband, sobbing into his chest and babbling something which sounded like "Bob...run...way...Sheil..."

With a frown Mr. O'Neil looked to Terri and she sighed, nodding sadly. "Bobby said he knew where Sheila was and was going after her." It was the truth, but it still tore Terri up inside to tell them it. It felt like she was lying, giving them false hope or something. Absently, she started playing with her heart-shaped locket. "I-should go."

Moving slowly towards the kitchen door, knowing there was nothing left for her there, the young woman sighed feeling suddenly more bereft than she had when Bobby had gone into the ride. She paused, though, thinking of something. "Um-I left some things in Bobby's room-could-could I take them with me?" She couldn't look the older couple in the eyes, guilt playing across her features.

"Why? Oh, Terri-you're always welcome here, dear!" Mrs. O'Neil's voice sounded desperate. The girl might not be her own child, but she was the last link to her son-the girl who'd been coming over practically every day for nine years-the girl she hoped might marry her son and give her grandchildren to love. "You don't have to-"

Terri turned and nodded, sorrow in her eyes, laced with determination. "Yes, I do, Mrs. O'Neil. I-I've got to-deal with this on my own. I-please? Can I get the stuff?"

"Of course you can, Terr." Mr. O'Neil nodded towards the kitchen stairs. "Go up the back way. Get whatever you need. And-come back as soon as you've thought things through. You're welcome here anytime, Terr." He added as he hugged his wife, but his eyes relayed the truth of his words.

Terri felt like a bigger fraud than before as she raced up the steps.

xxx

Using the second key Bobby had given her years ago, Terri tried to unlock the silent bedroom. Her hand shook and she had to take a break twice before she'd calmed herself enough to get the bit of metal into the mechanism. She turned the key and heard the click. With a deep breath, Terri slipped into Bobby's darkened bedroom, knowing that even his parents didn't come in here unless invited-which was never.

Walking in, letting the door swing shut, at first the teen left it dark. Instead, she stood just inside the door and felt. She could smell him still: the leather jacket he loved, the after shave he'd started using, even the faint smell of laundry in the hamper in the corner. With a sigh, knowing she had to move before one or both parents came up to offer her help, Terri turned and flipped on the light.

She slowly turned back, facing the surprisingly youthful looking room. The walls were decorated with unicorn paper, something one expected to find in the room of a nine year old girl rather than an eighteen year old boy. The dark-haired teen smiled softly, touching one of the mythical beasts, letting herself recall the days she'd helped him put up that paper-without the knowledge or permission of his parents. It had taken months, but they'd even managed to paint all the manes and tails flame colored in remembrance of the unicorn Bobby had left behind in the Realm.

Turning, she sighed as her eyes fell on the desk where Sheila's yearbooks had been stacked. He'd sneaked into his sister's room and stolen them, carefully rearranging her bookshelves so his parents wouldn't be aware of it. Then he'd photocopied the pictures of his five missing friends, placing them in a scrapbook with all the articles and clippings he could get his hands on; he didn't just save the information about the kidnappings, either. Instead, Bobby had gone to the library and copied anything he could find, including sports awards for Hank and Diana, academic achievements for Presto, society articles on Eric, and the birth reports that went along with each teen, too.

Now, those scrapbooks and Sheila's yearbooks sat to the side of the desk, near the last notebook he'd been busy filling with adventures from the Realm. The rest of his notebooks were in a box under some abandoned clothes in his closet. That's where Terri headed.

She held back tears as she sorted through the debris of a teenager's misspent youth; clothes, sport's equipment, comic books, and old board games were piled haphazardly on the shelves, marking Bobby as the world's most normal teen. It was the box marked '_Do not touch on pain of death!_' that had her worried. She didn't want his parents to find out just how obsessed he'd been with what they termed fantasy. She had to get his books out of there before they started looking through the room for old memories.

Getting to work, Terri dragged the heavy box from the closet, letting the debris of childhood fall to the floor with a clatter. She hurried over to the desk and swept up the yearbooks and scrapbooks, stacking them next to the box. Looking in the closet, searching for a gym bag to carry the other books in, the girl became away of a gentle tapping on the door. They'd come looking for her. "Yes?" There it was! Terri grabbed it up, not bothering to dump the light-weight bag, cramming Sheila's books into it as fast as possible.

She whirled as the door opened and Mr. O'Neil stopped dead, looking around his son's room in shock. He'd not seen it since the day Sheila had disappeared, respecting his son's privacy. Now he wondered just what had gone on in his son's life that he'd not seen-and if it had anything to do with him running away because Mr. O'Neil was sure his son had not simply gone looking for his long missing sister. The man sighed deeply and looked at Terri.

He noted the '_Pain of Death_' box and the stack of notebooks on top. Looking back at the girl's guilty eyes he nodded and moved over to pick up the heavy burden. Quietly he asked, "Where did you want these, Terr?" He met her eyes.

She cringed, seeing the knowledge in his face. He knew they were Bobby's, not hers, and yet he was willing to play along. He'd just lost his second child and yet he was willing to let her take a big piece of that child's life out of the house, perhaps forever. Terri hung her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. O'Neil. Bobby didn't want anyone reading his books. He-he has a bunch of personal stuff in there that-that I'm not supposed to tell anyone." Flushing, she looked up at the tall man with pleading eyes.

Mr. O'Neil nodded and set the stuff back down, slipping onto the bed with a sigh. He patted the dark lilac quilt and turned to her. As she sat, absently thinking the color matched Sheila's magic cloak, Bobby's father sighed again. "Terri. I want the truth."

Terri hung her head once more. "I-I can't-he wouldn't want me to tell-"

The father turned and looked over the wallpaper, seeing the amount of work invested in painting each of the unicorns. He looked around the dark lilac theme of the room and back to the cheery paper on the walls. Slowly, his eyes fell once more on Terri. "He didn't go looking for Sheila. He ran away because he felt he didn't fit in anymore, didn't he?"

The girl's head shot up, surprise in her eyes. "Did-didn't fit in?" She felt bewildered and confused. What was he talking about? Did he know something she didn't?

With a nod, Mr. O'Neil stood up and picked up the heavy box. He headed slowly for the door. "Don't tell his mother, Terr. It'd kill her to know her son Is-gay." He left the room and a stunned teenager behind.

She wanted to laugh, to protest, to cry. How little they knew their own son. How little his own trials had made an impact on their lives. To think that his father would come up with such an answer to the question of Bobby based on the room he lived in was odd to say the least. Dark hair swinging, she stood and collected the gym bag, frowning as she went downstairs. It was an odd world in which a father could write off his son with a simple label.

Terri left the house and got into her car, not even able to look at the man in the eye. She couldn't deny the assumption but she didn't feel right leaving a lie behind. Finally, just as she was about to start the car, and Mr. O'Neil was about to go inside, she looked up. "Mr. O'Neil-no matter what, Bobby still loves you both." It was small consolation to a grieving father and girlfriend.

Terri drove away.

xxx

Alone in her own room, having spent the last several minutes slowly lugging the heavy burden up the stairs, Terri sat, exhausted, on the floor. She reached for the box several times but hesitated and dropped her hand every time. She couldn't look at those horrible notebooks! They held three years of Bobby's life in minute detail, but she never even wanted to see them again. Finally, she turned instead to the gym bag with Sheila's yearbooks.

Unzipping the bag, taking a deep breath, the black-haired girl tried to steel herself for the coming ordeal. She would force herself to look through the books, finding brief snapshots of young teens before their lives had changed completely-before they had even gotten to their final year of schooling. She would make herself recall those five teenagers she'd been avoiding thinking about while trying to help Bobby return.

Reaching in, the first thing Terri's hand fell on wasn't a hard covered book. It was something soft and squishy, wrapped in paper. Tilting her head, the teen drew out the object instantly seeing the tag with her name on it. A birthday present!

She started crying, holding the present in her lap. Bobby had obviously planned on giving this to her when the time came around. He'd been thinking ahead, at least a little, believing he'd still be there. Somehow, the knowledge that Bobby had at least thought he might not go back comforted the girl. Hugging the squishy present, Terri sobbed.

It was many long minutes before she gathered herself together and debated whether she should open the gift, despite it not being her birthday for almost a year, or wait for Bobby to return to give it to her. He might never return, after all, and this was one last piece of him she could have. Shaking her head, Terri tried to dispel the idea that Bobby wouldn't return. He had to! And-when he did, he could get her a new present.

Smiling at her decision, and the defiant reasoning behind it, the teen slowly unwrapped the gift. It was a stuffed dog much like her old Freddie had looked years ago. Her dog hadn't made it back from the Realm, getting lost somewhere between here and there, but Bobby had eased the pain of losing Freddie. Terri smiled though tears again welled in her eyes. She turned the dog every which way, examining the stuffed bit of fur. Surprised, she noticed it had a locket around its neck: a big, gaudy children's piece of jewelry shaped like a heart and made of silver-coated plastic.

With a wistful sigh, Terri fondled the heart. Bobby was broody and obsessive, but he'd always had a sentimental side-even if he kept it hidden. He didn't like big public displays or confessions, but every once in awhile he'd do something sweet. She felt the clasp on the heart and tilted her head curiously. She flicked it open.

Inside was set a picture of her at ten and him at the same age. Loosely placed inside were pictures of them at eighteen. Both sets were in the shape of a heart, and sized to match two very different lockets: the young ones for this piece of children's jewelry, the smaller ones-Terri picked them up with a shaking hand and reached for the tiny heart around her neck. Holding her breath, she flicked open her own golden locket and fit the pictures in-a perfect match.

"Oh, Bobby, it's beautiful!" She collapsed onto the floor, cuddling the stuffed dog and crying.

xxx

The room was dark.

With a sigh, the teenaged girl forced herself off the rug to flick on the light switch. Looking around, red-rimmed eyes burning and puffy from her bout of tears, Terri held back a sniffle. She dragged her feet as she walked over to the stack of books and the box. The stuffed dog remained clutched in her arms though she seemed unaware of the fact.

Sinking down to the carpet once more, becoming slowly aware of the sounds of her parents moving around downstairs, the dark-haired girl reached for the box. She hadn't wanted to read these horrible books earlier but something drove her to it now. Pulling one out at random, she started idling flipping through the yellowed pages. It was a good five years old, and listed the many weapons Bobby had come across in the Realm.

The _Dragons' Graveyard_ seemed to be a source of many weapons, and the story of their time there was set right after the listing. It was easy to get lost in the writing, despite the obvious mistakes of a teen uncaring of grammar and spelling. Idly, Terri recalled that Bobby would have been twelve while writing this, though he'd actually lived fifteen years in total. She turned the page.

Eyes widening, her breath caught. Was this true? She flipped desperately through the book, stopped, and hurried to lock her door before once more sitting on the carpet to read through Bobby's notebook. It couldn't be possible-could it? Would it help?

She flipped back to the list of weapons, leaving it open, then pulled the rest of the books out of the box. Flipping through one after another, Terri's heart nearly froze in a mix of dread and excitement. There-she'd found another-and another. Eventually, she had each notebook opened to a different list Bobby had made: weapons, enemies, allies, locations. It was all there! He had pretty much a listing of anything important in the entire Realm: a listing that would be very valuable to anyone trying to start a war-or end it.

Glancing back at the first notebook, the one with the _Dragons' Graveyard_ in it, Terri started flipping pages once more. She had to find it, had to-It took several hours, but she located what she'd sought. It was something Bobby had mentioned once, long ago, something she had deliberately forgotten all these long years. And she found herself reading avidly now that she'd recalled it.

Slowly, once she'd finished, she flipped back to the weapons listing and started studying each open book around her. With a slow intake, then outtake, of breath the teen nodded to herself. She clasped her small locket in one hand and closed her eyes, concentrating on what she must do. If what Bobby had written was true, this would work.

A rush of wind screamed through the room slamming the notebooks shut, but Terri kept her eyes closed. She concentrated harder as a roaring noise filled the air like an angry dragon. Heat and cold swirled round her in alternating patterns and the trembling girl found her hair being lifted then her limbs. Without looking, without breaking concentration, she kept repeating in her mind what she wanted. Then, with a ripping sound followed by the rushing of the air, Terri disappeared.

All that remained of the eighteen year old was an abandoned stuffed dog with a dully-gleaming child's locket, two children's pictures smiling up from the gaudy toy.

Continued in Chapter Ten: Regrets and Repercussions


	10. Regrets and Repercussions

Title: Regrets and Repercussions

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 10 / 33

Rating: PG-13: language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 17 going on 18; Dungeon Master- over 2000

Summary: Bobby is back, but that's not actually what he wanted.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

With a thump the young blond man found himself stumbling to the ground, nearly hitting a tree. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the dizzying swirl of color he'd just gone through then looked around. Stunned, barely aware that he was kneeling in mud in the rain, Bobby looked around again and felt his heart constrict.

"Guess you should watch what you wish for-" he pushed to his feet and looked down at his jeans, frowning and making a face. "Eww-yuck!" Then, pausing and reviewing what he'd just said the teen chuckled. "Guess that about sums it up, doesn't it?" With another chuckle, he turned to look around the rain-drenched, dreary world.

However, when he looked around again and noticed his solitary state, he sighed and the good mood left him. "Ah, Terri-" he shook his head. He'd actually given up hope of that portal ever working again. In fact, he'd really rather not wanted it to work again.

Guilt flashed through him at the thought that he'd been willing to abandon Sheila and the others to the Realm. Instantly, anger welled up as well. Why should he have to worry about it? They'd decided to stay, after all. Could they blame him for making a life for himself? True, he'd been trying pretty much every day to get back, but recently it had been more of something to do: a habit, really, rather than a genuine effort to return to this hellhole.

Bobby sighed regretfully and started trudging through the slop. He'd actually made up his mind, finally, that he wouldn't try any more. That last effort was going to be just that: a last effort. He'd figured it would fail. He could shrug it off with a bitter smile and tell Terri, '_Well, looks like I'm staying._' Then he could go about trying to actually get good enough grades in his senior year to make it to the Community College even if he'd lost the chance at a better university with his years of school neglect.

But now-now the plans he'd made deep in his heart had gone awry. He'd tempted fate one last time just to show Terri that he was in control, knowing she was worrying about his '_obsession with the Realm_' as she called it; it was very small consolation that he'd been right about coming back alone. And now he was back in the Realm and she was home on Earth-and he had no idea if the others were even still alive. They probably wanted to stay and he'd be running in playing false hero and embarrassing himself.

Kicking at a muddy stone, idly noticing that his sneakers were covered in the thick muck, Bobby shoved his cold hands into his pockets and hunched down against the driving rain. He kind of wished that he'd have brought his leather jacket with him. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to lose in the Realm, of course, but it would have kept him a bit warmer and drier right then. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a near-forgotten voice.

"Greetings, Barbarian."

Looking up, shock written across broad features, Bobby came to a stand still before he could plow right over the diminutive man. "Dungeon Master?" his voice was incredulous and he could barely contain the joy at seeing a familiar, trusted person so soon. "How-why-"

The man held up a hand and gestured towards a copse of trees off to the side. It definitely seemed drier over there. Bobby nodded and joined the man in walking under the protective leaf canopy. Teen turned to elderly mage and both studied one another in a long silence.

Finally the man spoke. "I have waited long years for you to be ready to return to us, Barbarian. You are sorely needed."

"What?" The blond shook his head, confusion in his light blue eyes. "But, I thought time was different-wait a minute, Dungeon Master, you mean you were going to send for me anyway?"

With a nod, Dungeon Master turned to study the rain outside their shelter. "Yes. You went back for a purpose. You come back for a reason." He gestured outside, glancing up sadly at the former Barbarian. "You may not yet realize your true value. It lies in more than your use of a club, Young One. However, there is another who has come to realize your worth. This is good-if the knowledge does not fall into the wrong hands."

Bobby shook his head, frowning. Years of pain, driving need and final acceptance of defeat drove all childish delight and confusion from him. Instead he growled and leaned close to the older man. "Stop the riddles, DM, 'cause I ain't in the mood. Give it to me straight-now."

The white haired man nodded and looked thoughtfully over the former child he had known. He smiled, wise sadness reflected in his face. "Yes, you have grown much, Young One. There is war brewing. A great evil comes across this land. Rebuilding is well near complete but the evil festers and grows even as we speak." He waved his hands, a globe of shimmering rainbow patterns appearing before Bobby. In it, the teen could see a whirl of images so quick he could barely make any of them out. "As time has passed in your world, so has it passed in ours. This is not always the way, but it is fortunate that at times the worlds coincide. This phenomena has given you time to mature so that you might also join this war."

The teen crossed his arms across his soaking T-shirt and nodded, staying quiet. He continued to glare at the man, a reminder that at the first indistinguishable riddle, his ever-precarious temper might blow-and then he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions. The world around them seemed to fade as he watched the rainbow sphere and listened to the gentle old voice.

"You left with the same knowledge I am giving you now. However, Young One, the time was not yet ripe." At Bobby's fiercer expression, Dungeon Master smiled and continued, letting the man know he wasn't trying to confuse matters. "Eight years have passed in your world and six in this. In that time the Young Ones have helped this world recover, preparing for the day when the evil would arise to conquer the Realm. That day is nigh upon us, Barbarian."

Uncrossing his arms, the frown softening to regret, Bobby whispered, "Eight years? I-I kinda thought that I'd see the others pretty much as I left them, Dungeon Master. I mean-as I remember them. Are-are they okay?"

The man shook his head and murmured, "Walk with me, Young One. We have far to go, you and I, though our paths will diverge shortly." And with that, he led Bobby back out from under the dripping trees and onto the muddy, rainy roadway. As they spoke, Dungeon Master would wave a hand, the sphere floating between them shifting with each gesture to show a different scene-but not the people Bobby most wanted to see.

"I had to send the Young Ones through the _Void_ to place them before the evil was aware of them. Unfortunately, it is an unstable way to travel and they were each injured in their own way." "What! You hurt Sheila?" The low growl was a warning as easily identifiable as any sound could be.

"Not precisely. All of the Young Ones will recover in time, if they have not already recovered. The magic can take years to wear off, and often a serious shock, good or bad, will erase the effects, if nothing else does. All of the children are not affected thus-some have already recovered." He looked up at the dark frown on Bobby's face and sighed. "Sometimes haste is not the correct path and for that decision I made six years ago I live in regret. But, Barbarian, the Young Ones have indeed learned from their ordeals, making them stronger and better prepared for the coming war."

"Okay-" Bobby's voice held doubt rather than acceptance but he didn't linger on that, needing as much information as this guy would give him before he pulled his habitual disappearing act. "So talk about the war and the evil. What can I do to help and how do I find the others?"

With a gentle, sad smile, the wise elder nodded and spoke as clearly as possible, abandoning his teaching riddles in the urgency of the situation.

xxx

Gripping the once familiar club, dressed in the familiar, hated fur loincloth and crossed leather harness, Bobby the Barbarian strode along the edge of the forest. He kept reviewing in his mind, wishing he had a notebook now when he really could use it, what the Dungeon Master had told him about each of the missions his friends had been given and why. Of course, the old man had conveniently forgotten to relay which teen was doing which mission and where, or what their injuries were, so Bobby was more frustrated with his categorization than anything.

He swung the club at some tall grass, smiling as the balance fell into place, aligning with a memory of long ago. Back then, when he'd been so runty, it had been awkward and heavy. It'd taken most of the three years he'd been here to learn to wield it properly, though he'd made a good showing the entire time. Now it seemed to be the perfect size and weight for his grown-up self. This was right.

A sudden frown marred his face and he crushed down the next thought even as it was trying to be born. He did not belong here! He belonged back home with Terri. He was only here to find his sister and do a favor for Dungeon Master. Just because he enjoyed swinging a club didn't mean he should stay in a world of death and danger.

Smiling, he knew even deep down inside that he wasn't really interested in staying in the Realm. It was merely the old familiar weight of his club which had him nostalgic, so he wasn't afraid he'd have trouble leaving when the time was right. He could easily concentrate on what he needed to do.

The Barbarian looked up at the horizon and nodded, noticing the Standing Stones he'd been told marked the first meeting place. He wanted to go find Sheila, but Dungeon Master hadn't said where she was. All he said was that Bobby's knowledge of the Realm was extensive enough, kept alive in those notebooks all those long years, that he would be one of the most valuable assets to the cause. That-and the first of the Young Ones would be at these stones by nightfall.

As he settled down, back against a shorter stone, Bobby looked around and felt his memory tug. These were the stones where Dekion had fought Venger. Bobby smiled, running a hand through his too-long blond hair and settling back to wait. Soon, the sun would set. Soon he'd meet up with the first of his friends.

Continued in Chapter Eleven: Dark Stars


	11. Dark Stars

Title: Dark Stars

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 11 / 33

Rating: PG-13: innuendoes

Setting: Late Spring 1987: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Diana- 18 going on 19; Dekion- 28 going on 29

Summary: Diana and Dekion are mapping the stars, but some nights aren't made for just studying.

Note: As there was no real indication of constellations, etc. in the Realm, I've made up a few.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Terms:

Eliavah: An Elfish Archer who is said to have died in a terrible war, thousands of years ago in the Realm (my own creation).

Crenellation: the dip between two merlons in a battlement.

Merlon: The higher, square part of the battlements (think of the Rook or Castle in Chess).

xxx

"No, it's _Eliavah's Bow_. Look harder, Dekion. There should be a curve to the stars, with a greenish one in the middle."

The Celestial Knight looked once more at the star-studded summer sky. He tried to determine the star Diana spoke of but shook his head in defeat after a long moment. "I cannot tell, Lady Diana. They all look white to me."

Diana shook her head and turned to face her friend. "How many times have I told you it's just plain Diana? Now, you're looking to the left, right?" A teasing smile lit her features as she waited for the inevitable protest. She was not disappointed.

"Left? Right?" Dekion frowned in puzzlement and turned towards the dark beauty beside him on the high tower perch. "Which way do you wish me to look?"

With a laugh, Diana shrugged one shoulder, still grinning widely. "I mean left, Dekion-look left-west. Do you see the curved set of stars with the green center? The green one is called the _Jewel of Eliavah_. It's how you can always tell west, because it's visible all year round." The Acrobat let one hand drift behind her back and nodded slightly as it came in contact with the hard stone crenellation. With a second nod, she slid herself backward onto the battlement, leaning her right side on the merlon there.

Unfortunately, she misjudged the effort she put out compared with the width of the stonework and found herself unbalanced, falling backwards. Without even a chance to scream, throwing her arms wide, Diana thankfully felt her wrist caught in a strong grasp.

"Easy, Lady Diana-relax, I have you." The man's voice was calm, reverberating on a low note. His voice was the type that sang through one's body and up one's spine in a delicious way. The man pulled her to a seated position then turned back to studying the skies, apparently un-bothered by the fact that she was still precariously perched.

Wiping at her forehead, Diana gasped for breath. She'd felt her life flash before her in that second of uncertainty. "Thanks, Dekion-I-I misjudged-again." The last word was low and bitter but her companion chose to ignore it.

Thoughtfully studying the western sky, he suddenly saw what they were looking for. "Ah! I have found the _Jewel_, Lady Diana. It is green as you say but just so. It nearly blends in."

Deciding to ignore her momentary lack of grace, Diana smiled and nodded. "Yes. It often takes a practiced eye to spot the colors of individual celestial bodies. The coloring denotes either a planet or a star made almost entirely of one particular gas. Now that you've found the _Bow_, look for the _Guardian Tree_. It will be above and to the right of _Eliavah's Bow_. Do you see it? The roots will be stretching towards us and the branches towards the top of the heavens."

This was frustrating work, mapping the heavens with Dekion. He was a studious pupil, and a hard worker with a good eye, but it would have been so much easier to do it on her own-to simply look up and map what she saw. However Diana had lost her eyesight at least a year previously and it had taken this long to come to terms with her handicap. In all that time, her eyes had not registered even a bare flicker of light.

She was indeed blind.

It seemed rather ironic that the person Dungeon Master most needed to look at the stars was the person he'd accidentally blinded when he sent them out. Diana was convinced he hadn't done it on purpose, though at times she let herself rant about it anyway. Her tantrums had been more frequent and severe towards the beginning of her partnership with the Celestial Knight.

For the last year, though, Dekion had remained patient, calm, reasoning. He had allowed her the anger and grief then calmly picked up the pieces and soothed her. Sometimes even that drove her over the edge; there was more than one occasion when she'd rallied against the Celestial Knight in frustration. How could he be so calm? He didn't have to put up with blindness; that's how.

Dekion's voice drew her out of her low spiraling thoughts, and Diana instinctively turned her face up to the sky, though she knew it was futile. "I have found the _Tree_, Lady Diana. Its branches spread over the _Bow_ in one direction and over another figure on the other. It appears to be a raging lion." She could tell by his voice that he'd turned to face her.

Nodding, Diana forced herself to smile, trying to retrieve her good mood of a few minutes before. "That is the Raging Lion. You're getting very good at this, Dekion. With the speed you're picking things up, we should be able to map the winter and spring skies next year rather than trying to study about them like the year past."

"Mmmm-" It sounded like a noncommittal noise but Diana accepted it as agreement anyway. She'd learned over their travels and studies that Dekion was not as impetuous as he'd been when cursed by Venger. Now, she could truly see the Knight he'd been before greed had overcome him and she'd had to save him with the help of her friends.

When he started moving away from her, Diana frowned once more, feeling bereft somehow.

"Dekion? Are we done tonight? Those clouds haven't come up yet, have they?" She tilted her head, inexplicably worried that he would leave her alone on the tower. The Acrobat had no problem being alone, or with heights, but ever since she'd been blinded she felt uneasy if she were left without warning. It was almost as if she needed people to acknowledge their actions before she felt all right with them.

"Yes. The clouds are coming quickly with the increased wind. We shall go inside now and discuss our findings, Lady Diana."

Smiling, relieved in a way, Diana hopped gracefully from her perch, her muscles recalling how to land, even if she had trouble with depth sometimes. "It's Diana-just plain Diana. Why can't you remember that when you remember everything else I say?" Her tone of voice was teasing, though, as she brushed past him and practically skipped down the stone steps, hand lightly resting on the rail as a guide.

It had taken a long time before she'd finally gotten up the courage to move quickly. For months she'd stumble and stop, worried that she'd bump into something or trip and fall into a pit or over a cliff. For those same months, Dekion had cared for her, telling her when things were in her way or guiding her around a new place they were staying at. It took a long time to let herself trust Dekion and not because he had once duped them into retrieving the _Circle of Power_ for Venger.

The hardest part was the _relying on_ someone else. Diana had always been independent even with the others. It rankled to have to listen to someone's comments and suggestions rather than making her own decisions. She'd felt helpless and useless and the feelings had threatened to destroy her as time passed and her handicap didn't lift as Dekion had originally thought it would.

But Dekion had remained patiently supportive the entire time, and slowly her old confidence had come back. Diana had started taking risks and found that Dekion let her make mistakes once she asked him to. He was content to watch her tumble or trip then help her up and tend her wounds if needed. That was perhaps the biggest boost to her ego. She could be self-reliant to an extent, but he was there to lean on if it got too much.

And lean on him she occasionally did.

Now, however, perhaps due to her near slip on the tower, Diana took the stairs at a fast pace just to show she could. She made it to the bottom, crossed her arms, and tapped her foot. A playful smile crossed her face and she laughed when she heard Dekion's slow, even trod come near. "Well, who'd have thought you could be out-run by a blind person?"

Dekion's laugh was just as delicious as his speaking voice, a deep rumble in his chest which seemed to involve his entire body. He held out an arm to her, bowing, she was certain. "You have won, Mistress Fleet Foot, and so you will guide me to our rooms." With that, he simply waited, silently.

A thrill went through Diana but she fought it. She loved showing that she knew where she was going after two days in any new location. Dekion knew her penchant for showing off and so indulged her at times, like now. It was nothing more than that-and especially wasn't as-well-decadent as it sounded. Their rooms were connected by a sitting room.

Turning, letting her hand fall on the arm she knew he held ready for her, the young woman slowly led the way inside the Castle. It was at one time a noble keep but Venger and subsequent poverty had made it into a ruin. Six months ago an enterprising group of travelers decided to turn it into an inn and so had started their hard work. At present only one wing and a tower were usable, but it was enough to bring in money, especially with paying guests intent on staying for some time: like Diana and Dekion.

"So, when we get inside, do you want to be quizzed on the stars or practice something else, Dekion?" Now why did that sound so-Diana frowned at her own imagination.

"We could practice your fighting, Lady Diana."

"What?" She whirled around, shock and budding excitement in her voice. Reaching out blindly, Diana's hand came in contact with the man's chest and she left it there, flattening it against his soft woven shirt. "You mean it, Dekion? You'll teach me to fight again? You're not afraid I'll hurt myself?" Oh, this was what she'd been hoping for, dreading she'd never do again.

The brown-haired man laughed and placed a strong hand over her smaller one. "Yes, Lady Diana-your confidence is enough that you may take a blow or two without losing faith. You are ready to train once more. I have noted that you have not neglected your acrobatics in this past year and that will aid you in regaining your former abilities."

"Yes!" the Acrobat let go of the man and threw her hands in the air, laughing. "I can do gymnastics blindfolded, so blind is no large jump, but working with my javelin would be hard without a spotter. Are-" she tried to reign in her own enthusiasm, "are you sure, Dekion? You're in for a real work out, you know-and maybe a few more tantrums."

Laughing, Dekion reached out and took Diana's hand, putting it on his arm and guiding them both towards their rooms. "I am prepared for whatever you give me, Lady Diana. Come, before the hour grows even later. We will need to sleep by dawn to remain on our nightly schedule of star watching." He'd learned long ago not to use the term gazing in conjuncture with star.

xxx

Upon arriving in their rooms, Dekion hurriedly moved the sparse furniture into his bedroom. The sitting room was shortly clear of obstacles, and Diana stood in the middle of it almost vibrating in her excitement. This was the feeling she'd had whenever her coach had taught her a new routine back home. "Ready, Dekion," she called happily.

"Hold out your hand, Lady Diana." When she did as instructed, he placed something in it. She drew in a breath and sighed. The barely noticeable humming gave it away as much as the familiar wooden feel.

"My javelin-"

Then, with only a thought, the bit of wood extended to a length of perhaps five to six feet. Once more the Acrobat had her Weapon of Power. Suddenly, she felt alive again-as if all this time she'd been asleep and waiting.

"Okay, here I go!" Diana took a few steps back and ran to launch herself in the air, attempting to put her javelin tip on the floor to aid her. She ignored Dekion's warning cry and knew she shouldn't have as the javelin landed. It felt wrong. Even after all that time she could tell it was an incorrect placement. As a result the wood slipped, sending her flying and tumbling against the wall.

The magic weapon flew out of the woman's grasp and shrunk down as it hit the far wall. The Acrobat tumbled the other way, crashing into the closed door of her bedroom, sending it careening open with a loud slam. Diana's head hit the bedstead and she felt a wave of sick dizziness come over her. "Unh-"

Dekion hurried into the room and knelt down by the prone figure. Gentle hands ran expertly over bruised flesh, looking for dire injuries in need of immediate treatment. Diana's dizziness left as he worked but she fell silent, flushing in sudden awareness. Her breath caught as his hands ran across her hips and under her buttocks.

"Dekion?" Was that breathy, deep tone her? Diana opened her eyes to darkness, but somehow knew the man was leaning closely over her. "I'm fine-Dekion-" She started to bring her hands up, coming in contact with his chest and rubbing upwards towards his shoulders.

After a moment the knight pulled back, forcing her to drop her hands. Without a word he picked her up. Dekion carefully placed Diana in her bed and turned towards the door, all as silent as a statue.

'_I've done something to drive him away_,' was her panicked thought. He was leaving and wasn't telling her. "Dekion?" The husky tones were gone, replaced with fear and worry. "Where are you going?"

"To get a chair, Lady Diana. I will watch you for a while to make sure you have no head injuries. You should rest-we will try again tomorrow." He left the room.

For some reason Diana felt he hadn't left just to get a chair. He'd wanted to put distance between them, she was certain. The woman started to think about how she could have reacted differently, but was interrupted by the man's return. Listening, she heard him position the chair next to her bed and sink into it. He was still silent. "Dekion?"

"Yes?" His voice was calm, patient, understanding, but distant, as well. Somehow, he'd pulled away from her without even moving.

"Dekion, I'm sorry if I-"

"No need to apologize. You have done nothing wrong. Now rest so we may practice tomorrow." The Celestial Knight laid a hand on her forehead.

She let her eyes close but sleep eluded her as she thought she heard him whisper "rest well, Diana."

Continued in Chapter Twelve: Twist of Fate


	12. Twist of Fate

Title: Twist of Fate

Series: The Never-ending Story 12 / 33

Rating: PG: Death description, but nothing too graphic.

Setting: Summer 1987: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Sheila- 18; Varla- 18, Jaref- assumed 40's, Marinda- assumed 40's

Summary: Sheila and Varla come across many discoveries: some tragic, others helpful.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Jaref wiped his brow then stooped to pick up the load of firewood he'd been cutting. This was actually an order for the woman at the other end of the village in exchange for some of her eggs and the occasional chicken. It worked best that way, as she couldn't chop her own wood, and Jaref didn't have the patience to raise animals.

As he positioned the bound bundle on his back, the man called out to his wife indoors. "Going to deliver the order." Thankfully, her voice stopped him from making the long trek unnecessarily.

"She's here with a wagon to pick it up. Came to deliver the poultry, Jaref. Come inside after you load her wagon."

With a sigh, the man headed around the small cottage to the front. He nodded at the sight of the tiny wagon, depositing the bundle neatly in the back. Turning, Jaref took a moment to look at his house. Pride filled him at the knowledge that no matter what had happened, he'd kept his home and way of life-and managed to keep most of his family together as well.

Frowning, Jaref shook off that thought, burying the loss of his other child deep, where it had been for fifteen years. He was fortunate to have his wife and daughter and reminded himself of such luck. Wiping his feet on the stoop, the man walked inside and nodded to the four women in the small room.

Varla smiled and ran to hug him. Guiding him more out of affection than necessity, the eighteen year old led the way to the table; she offered him his customary chair and sat too. His daughter leaned over and whispered in his ear, "She thinks Sheila's pretty and actually managed to get her to understand what she was saying. She's doing much better reading lips. It's why Sheila's blushing."

Indeed, when Jaref turned to look at the other redhead at his table the teen was blushing furiously, eyes downcast. He couldn't resist a smile for the Thief, even though she didn't look up to see it. Turning to his other guest, he bestowed the smile on her instead.

"I was just saying how pretty you girls are, Jaref. And a miracle, too, if you ask me. Eighteen years and no one else remembers-but I was friends with Midwife then, and she told me you had twins. Not an easy birth as I recall her saying, either."

Marinda, Jaref's wife, turned, hands shaking as she wrapped them in her apron. She made some mumbled excuse to leave the small room. The man didn't blame her; he wanted this subject to end, as well. Instead, he turned his smile to a frown and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak.

The woman cut him off, instead. "Oh, no you don't, Jaref. You'll say either I'm an old fool or should mind my own business. Both, more like. But I know what I know. You had twins and one was taken from you by your sister from far away. And the next I hear your sister up and died and the babe went missing. Well, it's good you've got your child back, and that's all I'm trying to say. She's lovely, even if she don't look much like either of you."

Sheila, who'd looked up in time to see the woman's mouth forming the words, was flushing horribly at the assumption that she was related to her host. She was, after all, a guest in their home. Odder still, she was a couple months older than Varla and had told the woman that when she'd asked. But this didn't seem to have sunk into the elder's head. The Thief looked at Jaref, biting her lip, and was partially relieved when he sent her a small if bitter smile.

Then he interrupted the rambling neighbor. "We had twins, yes, but the other was a boy, not a girl. Sheila's a guest in our home. You might recall that she was here once before." At that, however, he didn't elaborate, feeling it was better not to draw too much attention to his own business. "Sheila's a few months older than our Varla."

Silence fell on the group.

It was some minutes before the woman spoke again in a more determined voice. "Well, be that as it may, I still say she's a lovely girl-and very pretty manners, too. Does you proud, Jaref, having a daughter like that. She was raised right by whoever got hold of her, I can see." It was useless; the woman refused to believe that Varla and Sheila weren't siblings, that the red hair was a mere coincidence.

Marinda returned to the room and placed some sewing on her own chair. She then hurried to get more tea for the group before sitting and starting on her sewing. At least she'd gathered herself while she was out of the room so there was no evidence of hurt emotions or years of pain in her face.

Their neighbor turned to Marinda causing Jaref to wince. He had a feeling they wouldn't get rid of this woman until she'd exhausted her subject, and that would create a lot of pain to sort through for the entire family. As it was, Varla hadn't known about her brother; she was sitting there staring at her father, stunned.

xxx

"I believe it's close to dark and you have far to go. May I see you to the door?"

The old woman looked up, cutting off her own statement at the younger woman's comment. Looking around, she noted the deepening shadows and the tired, strained looks on the foursome's faces. She nodded and left, surprisingly without even another word. The door closing behind her was the only break in the absolute silence.

The sound of the neighbor's cart was barely faded when Varla jumped on her parents verbally. "I have a brother? What happened? Why didn't you tell me?" Marinda winced and shook her head for once the reticent one.

Jaref took charge of the conversation. "When you were born, your mother near bled to death, Varla. The second babe, your brother, was so tiny and weak, Midwife said he wouldn't last the night. My sister was visiting and said she'd take the child away and bury him when he passed."

"And? What else? How'd he go missing?" The teen was on the edge of her seat, gripping the hard wood with both hands. Her eyes were intent on her father's face, wanting to catch every nuance.

"And my sister was killed in a fire. The babe was never found though I was told an unknown man was seen there. Either he took the baby for some reason, which doesn't make sense, or the babe died before or in the fire and was buried or burned. That's it. It was a long time ago and a very painful time for both of us, Varla." His voice held a warning to not push too far.

Varla merely nodded and tilted her head. "Can I know his name, Father? I should at least know his name-" her voice was soft out of respect for her parent's grief. It was obvious she'd drop the subject if this last question was answered.

It was her mother, not her father who answered her. "Aelbh-Urt. His name was Aelbh-Urt, Varla. Now, it's time to set the table for supper." The woman looked older than she had that morning, but she smiled thankfully and quickly hugged her daughter when the girl offered to do the work for her.

Sheila moved off to help as well silently worrying her lip. She should have left when the old lady did, left the family in private to discuss their loss. She should not have stayed to interfere with their grief, even though she'd kept her head down so she didn't know exactly what they'd said-but there weren't many places she could have gone, either, even if for the few minutes the conversation had taken.

xxx

Lying in bed, Sheila couldn't find sleep. She worried about the old woman's assumptions and how the rest of the village might react to them, as well as how it would affect the family she was living with. The Thief turned over, nibbling her lip, and froze.

Varla was awake, staring intently at her from the other bed.

"Um-Varla?" Sheila tried to whisper, hoping she wouldn't disturb the couple in the other bedroom.

The Illusionist slipped out of her bed and moved over to Sheila's. She looked at her directly, speaking clearly so Sheila might read her lips. It wasn't an easy task and Sheila usually only caught a few words of a conversation. "I wanted to talk about my brother."

Shaking her head, Sheila whispered back. "Maybe you shouldn't. Your Mom was pretty upset, Varla."

"I know." Varla leaned over to light the oil lamp on the table between their beds. Turning, she smiled. "Let's practice those signs we-" she sighed, realizing she'd gone too fast for Sheila's limited abilities. "Signs-"

Sheila nodded, still biting her lip, and sat up as well. The two girls worked slowly, inventing signs for common words and practicing them over and over to memorize them. Varla went so far as to write them down on some paper she'd gotten in the village. It was definitely a way to pass a restless night and would hopefully help in the long run. After all, Jaref had admitted a few weeks before that Sheila had been sent to help him in the coming war.

That had been a terrifying night: a long, slow process of writing messages back and forth until the Thief had run out of things to say. The woodcutter still refused to explain what his task in the war was, but he encouraged Sheila to try to fit into the family, obviously planning on having her around for quite some time. Sheila helped around the house, and worried in her bed at night, hoping the others were okay-and wondering if she'd ever get her hearing back.

It was dawn before the girls were satisfied with their newest efforts and went to bed for the last few hours they were allowed to sleep.

xxx

The knock on the door went unheard by one girl and ignored by the other. It had to be followed by another knock then the door opening and an exasperated voice demanding they get up and get to their chores. Varla groaned in exhaustion as she rolled out of bed to wake an equally tired Sheila.

The girls barely had time for breakfast before they were doing cleaning and other chores around the cottage. They had started the habit of trying to sign back and forth during these times but weren't very successful at it, as they kept having to check their notes. This would interfere in work and get them in trouble for goofing off. This day, however, their signs were more recognizable and both girls would inadvertently break into giggles every few minutes.

Marinda didn't correct them for going slow for once. The sound of the giggling girls made her heart feel a bit lighter. After all she was still freshly grieving for a long lost child. It took only moments for the quick-witted woman to catch on to what the girls were giggling about.

With a smile, she stepped in between them. "Okay, how do I get involved in this silliness?"

Laughing, Varla skipped off to get the notes and passed them to her mother for review. "We're trying to come up with a way to talk to each other. Sheila said they use their hands in her world if they're deaf. So, we thought we'd try that. It's hard but fun." She grinned at her mother but went back to work.

"Oh-really?" The woman continued to smile as she flipped through the notes, trying a couple of the easier looking signs. Her smile turned to a laugh when she came across the sign for her own name and for her husband's as well as for both girls. "And what's this?" She made the sign they'd written for Sheila.

Sheila recognized it instantly and giggled. "That's my name. Isn't it great?" She walked over to point out the names for her other friends.

All laughter came to an abrupt end as Jaref's voice intruded. "What's going on here?" He sounded quite harsh. Sheila winced; she'd been looking at the door and couldn't miss his entrance.

"Oh! Father-we-" Varla cleared her throat and tried again. "We were using our hands to speak with Sheila-it's called signing. It's so much easier than reading lips."

The man strode over and took the notes, glancing through them with a frown. He looked up at Sheila briefly then back at the notes. Finally, with a drawn out whistle, he nodded and looked up. "This is what I've been needing all this time-"

"What?" His wife looked confused, then her eyes widened. "Oh, Jaref! For the mission? But-how could you-"

He interrupted again with a sour smile. "Because I intend all of us to learn Sheila's signing. Then we can communicate without anyone else knowing what we say. It's perfect for what we have to do."

"But they're only children, Jaref! They shouldn't even go-"

"They'll both go because I need them both to go. Dungeon Master specifically sent Sheila to us to help and her cloak may be one of the main reasons. Varla's gift will also help when we finally start."

The woman shook her head, tears welling up. "But, children, Jaref?"

Varla interrupted gently. "Perhaps, Father, it's time to tell us just what mission Dungeon Master has planned for us-and how signing will help it?"

Continued in Chapter Thirteen: Waking Nightmares


	13. Waking Nightmares

Title: Waking Nightmares

Series: The Never-ending Story 13 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Blood and injury.

Setting: Summer 1987: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Presto- 18, Ayisha- 18 going on 19, Ramuud- 40's (assumed)

Summary: Presto is learning to live on caravan but sometimes life has a way of turning on one.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Presto awoke in a cold sweat eyes wide and staring in the dark. His breath was coming in pants. The feeling of being watched, hunted, trapped, was with him still, and he couldn't seem to shake it-even after five whole minutes of sweating and panting and staring blindly. That had been a heck of a nightmare.

Somehow, the others had sensed his fear. A light flared in the darkness and a large figure moved towards him. Presto blinked and tried to adjust to the sudden light, knowing instinctively that this was not the threat of his dreams. Another, more slender, figure approached from the doorway of the desert tent.

"Are you well, My Son?"

Ramuud's deep voice reassured the teen. It was joined by the softer tones of Ayisha, also in concern. Presto merely nodded his head and smiled sheepishly. "Silly nightmare. Don't worry about it." His voice cracked at the end, reminding Presto just how deep his voice had started to settle; it was breaking less as the months wore on. Somehow that stupid thought made him feel calmer than even the worry of his friends. He smiled.

With a gentle laugh, Ayisha let herself sink onto the low bedroll, reaching over to brush sweat-damp auburn hair from the eighteen year old's odd golden eyes. "Well, if you are calmer, My Brother, than perhaps you will share your fears so we may all face them together." Somehow the girl always sounded wiser than her eighteen years. Perhaps it was due to her father's influence.

A chuckle rang out, low and infectious. Ramuud sat on the floor by Presto's bedroll and crossed his legs in the fashion of his people, hands resting on knees, prepared for a story. His entire manner was so respectful, yet so welcoming, that Presto couldn't help but start speaking.

"Uh-I really don't remember much. I was walking somewhere, but-uh-can't remember where, really. But I was being watched. I know that much. It was like I was some sort of-prey. I couldn't see who it was hunting me, but I knew he was out there, waiting for me, you know?"

The man shook his head, amusement on his features. "You will never be a story-teller, My Son, but I understand what you say. Can you recall if you were in this world or your other one?"

That thought sent a jolt through the teen. "Uh-uh-my other one?" It took a moment or two for Presto to even recall that he wasn't from the Realm. He'd been raised on Earth; it just felt like a dream, though. He-was happy in the Realm, odd as it seemed. "I-I was in the Realm in my dream, Ramuud. I'm sure it wasn't Earth."

"And what age were you?" The man leaned forward now, intent on an answer that Presto could only wonder at.

"Well... uh... I was little." His eyes opened wider. "I don't know why I know that, but in my dream I was a little kid. Maybe even a baby. Weird-" The redhead started to lose himself in thought.

A soft touch, a tinkling laugh, brought the boy from his imaginings. "Perhaps you were chased as a babe in arms, My Brother. That would explain this dream. Was there a time, when you were small, that you were in danger?"

Presto looked at Ayisha and wondered at the sudden luminescent quality of her deep dark eyes. He shook himself to collect his thoughts. "Uh-I don't know. My mom would sometimes say I was a sick baby. She couldn't have kids and adopted me, but I-" With another shake of his head, Presto tried to push those thoughts back. They had no bearing on the questions. "Actually, I don't remember being a baby," he tried a smile.

Ayisha nodded. "I do not, either. You were-adopted? As my father has adopted you?" Her deep brown eyes stay trained on the younger teen's face.

He flushed.

"Yeah. Mom was married once and they couldn't have kids. So they adopted me. But my dad died before a few months passed. I was maybe two or three when I was adopted but I don't remember my dad. Mom says I was sick when she adopted me, but the people at the agency couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. Since dad had money, they decided to let me go-the agency, not my Mom. Uh-" He stopped trying to sort his thoughts. He rarely spoke of this even to his other friends.

Presto lifted his head and shrugged, trying a smile and finding it quite easy to do. Often his own adoption brought nothing but confusing memories and feelings. "She said-uh, Mom-said that they wanted to adopt a hard-to-place kid so they'd get the baby quicker. That means handicapped, sick, or families-or minorities. Most people where I'm from want a healthy baby. Me, being sick and a bit older, I was hard to place with a family. Most people didn't want me. But Mom and Dad did."

With a sigh, smiling wider, feeling better about finally releasing this bit of himself, Presto continued. He was unaware how relaxed he'd become. His breathing had returned to normal and his body had stopped shaking. He'd even begun to feel his nerve endings again-sometimes they seemed to quite ever since he'd gone through that Void thing.

"They adopted me but Dad died soon after. Mom lost most of the money on his funeral and debts and my doctors. She got a job and was hardly ever home after that. I-I basically watched over myself 'cause Mom couldn't afford a baby-sitter for me. After I was five, she'd stopped trying to sneak me to work or trying to get neighbors or family to watch me for free. Instead, I was left with a sandwich and a bottle of water and the TV for company."

The pair listening didn't understand some of his references, but neither interrupted the teen. After all, he'd fallen into a near-story-telling pattern, and the information he was so freely giving was definitely interesting. They'd worry about things like Agencies and TV's later.

Standing up now, restless to be doing something while he spoke, Presto moved on quiet feet towards the tent doorway. He opened it, letting the chill night air inside not minding in the least. He'd gotten very used to the desert in the past year. "Well, by six I was in school, but skipped first grade immediately then again on third and eighth. I skipped around a lot, I guess. I wound up in classes with kids who were two and three years older than me." With a grin, Presto turned to his foster family. "I was expected, by Mom, to be able to take care of myself by then because I was so smart."

Ramuud stood and nodded, walking to his foster son's side and glancing out of the tent as well. His voice was low, soothing, and gentle. "It sounds a lonely life, My Son. You must have been very self-sufficient in your other world."

"Yeah," Presto agreed happily, "but not here. I'm still learning about desert living and trading caravans and all kinds of things." The teen's voice was happy, though. He loved learning, and here he actually felt like people wanted him to learn for the enjoyment and the survival-not because it kept him from being a nuisance. "Here, I'm part of a family. No more '_Albert, you know better than to bother me for stupid things-look it up, don't ask me._' Or '_Hey, Presto, show me another stupid trick._' It feels good to know things that'll help but not get pushed away because I know them." He fell silent wondering suddenly if he'd sounded stupid with those last words.

Ayisha, however, allayed that fear with her next question. Tilting her head, she softly asked "Albert?"

Presto turned and blinked, grinning while blushing. "Uh-yeah. My name's Albert not Presto. Presto's the stupid nickname the kids in school gave me. Albert's the name I was born with-at least, that's what the records say. My birth certificate was lost in a fire my mom says."

"I like Albert. It is nicer sounding than Presto. May I call you that?" Ayisha stood and moved gracefully to the younger boy's side, a gentle smile on her lovely features.

Suddenly, Presto felt extremely nervous. His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to swallow the nerves, making a choking sound as he simultaneously tried to take a deep breath. Coughing on the unexpected liquid in his lungs, the Magician doubled over and gripped Ramuud.

The man smiled and let the boy hold on. He had a surprisingly strong grip after only a year of working in the caravan. To look at the lean, nearly thin, body wouldn't lend the image of strength to the mind. As Presto regained his equilibrium, Ramuud glanced at his daughter, a gleam in his eyes. He, however, did not make the two younger people privy to his private thoughts.

Worried but knowing that one mustn't interfere with a choking person who actually was making noise, Ayisha twisted her hands in her long night dress, waiting and watching with anxious eyes. She relaxed as Presto did, smiling as she realized the danger had passed. Gently, she spoke. "If you do not wish me to use your name, My Brother, I will not do so."

Presto's head shot up and with it his entire body nearly causing him to smack heads with Ramuud. He shook his head quickly, pushing away with an absent smile for the man. "No! I mean-yes-uh-you can call me Albert. Uh-" he flushed once more. "I'd like that, actually." After a long pause in which he let himself start drowning in Ayisha's eyes, the teen shook himself and belatedly turned to his foster father. "And you, too, Ramuud. You can call me Albert if you want."

"Albert-if-you-want is such a long name, My Son. But I will use Albert." He smiled as the two children started laughing at his intentional joke. The air of tension cleared and the man nodded. "Then, to bed we go-Albert, My Son. Ayisha, My Daughter, let us get some rest. Dawn comes early in the desert this season." He smiled once more and left, letting the tent flap close despite his daughter still being sequestered inside with the teenaged male.

The teens looked at one another, still laughing. Then, slowly, the laughter died and the air grew thick with an unnamed emotion. They watched one another, unaware of how Ayisha continued to gracefully glide towards Presto. When they were mere inches away, the silence was broken by Ayisha's sudden and gentle: "Goodnight, Albert." Then she was gone leaving Presto to stare after her more confused than when he'd awoken from his nightmare.

xxx

"My Son, today we will be arriving at the town of Lekashonn. Have the caravan ready to unharness animals as soon as we stop." Ramuud smiled at Presto walking beside him. Slapping the rump of their lead animal, he sent a sunny smile towards the face peeping from inside the howdah. "My daughter, disembark and have the wares ready for assembling. I will see to market fees." It wasn't unusual for Ramuud to switch their jobs around, or even give them to other members of their ever-increasing caravan. He seemed to take pleasure in teaching every aspect of their life to anyone available to learn it.

Presto grinned and nodded. "Of course, Ramuud." He started whistling off-tune, never having learned how to whistle properly. Some people muttered good-naturedly, but no one particularly complained, so he continued the merry noise. The nightmare of two weeks previously was forgotten and the warm sun prevented any random thoughts on future bad dreams. It was enough for the redhead to enjoy the coming break from hot, dusty travel, knowing he'd have the roughest job-and Ramuud's trust in its timely completion.

As he walked and whistled, the teen noticed the dark-haired girl sliding from their howdah to begin her mission. She would be running back along the animals, telling those she chose to help her set up their market wares. Naturally, once she was done her chore, those left would know they'd been chosen to help unharness and settle animals. _Why waste effort by copying her?_ Presto thought. After all, he'd need the extra energy for the coming task.

The reached the town shortly and all work proceeded along a quick pace. Presto had stopped whistling, concentrating on this last harness before letting the beast get brushed down by the waiting child whose task it was. He had the tip of his tongue stuck out between his teeth, trying to undo the extra tight girth, reminding himself to talk to the man who'd fastened it. This tight a strap could hurt the animal after all.

Then his hands slipped uselessly down the straps. Presto caught his breath, unaware he had also just bitten his tongue. Instead, eyes wide, he called out in a near-unintelligible babble, "Wahmoo-elll!" The animal shifted and Presto was pinned, still unfeeling, as the heavy foot came down on his-most likely crushing several small bones.

These spells didn't come often, less frequently as time passed, in fact. But when they did come, Presto was nearly helpless. Sometimes he retained enough feeling to be able to speak, as he had the first time it had ever happened. But there were other times, like now, when he was pretty much helpless and unable to communicate his problem.

Fortunately the caravan people were used to this strange affliction their auburn-haired member had. It no longer frightened them either. Thus the child understood what the babble meant, even if the words were unclear. His understanding was cemented when Presto never flinched as his foot was crushed. "I'll get Ramuud." And the child was off at a quick sprint, darting among people and stalls to retrieve their master.

Presto was unaware of the tears of frustration which coursed down his face. He was busy trying to will his hands to move, his voice to work. He needed to get this animal off of his foot before more damage was done. Flopping hands and wrists ineffectually, the teenager tried again and again to slap the animal hard enough to be felt.

The great beast suddenly shifted, taking Presto by surprise and knocking him to the sands. He didn't care, forcing himself to try to push away from the animal. Managing a feeble half-roll, he at least got out of the immediately danger of large, heavy feet. His glasses, however, flew off and landed somewhere unknown. Now Presto was aware of the tears, mainly because he knew his own habits, secondly because of the wet marks they were making as they fell to the sand below him.

"Albert?"

The soothing voice felt like an instant balm, and Presto suddenly didn't want Ayisha to see his ineffectual tears. Turning his head, he only succeeded in slamming his face into the ground. With a gurgle he painfully turned his now bleeding face back to the exotic looking girl.

She was kneeling next to him; he could see her blurred outline. Gently, hands reached over and soothed his face, cold water washed his wounds. Ayisha tended her fallen foster-brother not giving display to the dismay she felt over this newest numbness spell. He'd been doing so well recently. "Albert, My Brother, your wounds are serious. Your foot will need to be reset and bound."

"Ahmaaa-" He tried to speak but it still didn't work.

With a small noise of worry, the young woman stroked auburn hair from a dirty, sweaty face. The cuts were minor, but his crushed foot-"Animal?" Ayisha was often the one to translate for him when he was this bad. "It's cared for. Our father unharnessed it and is discussing the proper tightness with Jackin. Worry not, Albert." She slid an arm around the eighteen year old and pulled him up to lean against her. "We need get you inside a tent to care for your foot. This heat invites insects."

_Insects?_ Presto wondered what a crushed foot had to do with insects. After all, it wasn't like his foot was exposed and bleeding-was it? Trying to communicate, he flung his hand to Ayisha's side to get her attention unaware of just how hard he'd hit the girl. "Beee?"

Ayisha wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out what that meant. Finally, it hit her and she replied, "Yes, Albert. Your foot is bleeding." Glancing around, a flash caught her eye, and the girl reached over to scoop up the lenses Presto needed for sight. They were thankfully undamaged.

Ramuud stepped over and bent to lift the boy in his arms, letting Ayisha guide the injured foot. He grinned at Presto and started carrying him quickly, knowing the feeling could come back at any time and wanting that foot set and dressed before that happened. "Come, My Daughter. Let us get Albert out of this heat. The market goes well without us." He'd added the last to relax the tense boy, but it didn't work. The man thought that maybe Presto wasn't even aware of how tense he was.

In a nearby tent, Ramuud quickly set Presto on a soft bed. Ayisha moved to place his glasses back on his face, but her father prevented her with a simple hand gesture. Glancing at the injured foot, Ayisha knew why and stepped back, a single nod of agreement her only sign of understanding. Due to his blurred sight, Presto missed the entire exchange.

Ramuud knelt by his foster-son and started checking out the foot. It was quickly, efficiently, cleaned of footwear, dirt, and blood. Ayisha continued her ministrations, moving on to helping her father reposition the crushed bones then splint it in cloth dipped in sap. Once the sap dried it would make a sturdy covering, though the teen wouldn't be permitted to walk for several months. When they were done, Ayisha returned Presto's glasses.

It was just past midday when the teen was allowed to try to sleep. He still had not regained his feeling and that worried Ramuud. After all, the boy hadn't even lost it this long that first time coming out of the Void. Why, suddenly, did he have so serious a relapse? And would this problem plague him the rest of his life, stealing his independence?

Presto saw the worry in the man's eyes and sighed. He still couldn't talk, couldn't ask the hundred and one questions running through his mind. Rather, he sighed again and let his eyes close, trying to drift into medicine induced sleep. It worked, and the last he was aware the teenager wondered just how he was going to help in the coming war if he couldn't even feel his breath in his body.

Ayisha removed Presto's glasses, setting them beside his long unused hat, glancing once at her father. The worry in her deep dark eyes mirrored his own, and it was a troubled pair that went back into the desert sun to check on their caravan's progress. After all life had to continue even when one's heart was aching for a friend with a seemingly hopeless problem.

xxx

When Presto awoke he was instantly aware that his glasses were gone. The next thing he was aware of was an intense throbbing, fiery pain in his left foot. Agony ripped through him, and he whimpered then let loose a low moan. He didn't dare scream, though, and forced himself to hold back his natural instinct concerning pain.

Fortunately, the sounds were enough to bring someone running. Ayisha slid to the floor next to the teenager and soothed his face with her gentle fingers. She seemed to fumble with something but Presto wasn't sure; then the girl was lifting his head and bringing a cup to his lips. She didn't remove it until Presto had drunk the entire bitter potion in it.

"This should ease your pain, My Brother. Would you wish your lenses?" Without waiting for his reply Ayisha carefully set the glasses on Presto's face, smiling worriedly down into his golden eyes. "Our father should arrive shortly, Albert."

Presto nodded suddenly sleepy again. Perhaps it was the medicine or just the exhaustion from his injury but, whatever the reason, he wanted to sleep again. He fought the urge, forcing his eyes to concentrate on the dark girl beside him. Slowly, he tried to speak, and was thankful the words came out clearly, "Thank you, Ayisha. My foot-hurts-" he let the sentence drop not wanting to give vent to the swears forming in his mind.

She smiled and that smile made him glad he'd kept his invectives to himself.

Smoothing a gentle hand over his brow, Ayisha nodded. "It will hurt for some time, Albert, but the pain will pass." A chuckle from the injured teen interrupted her words.

"This, too, shall pass. Yeah, I heard that somewhere before-back on Earth. Never thought to hear it here though. Ahh!" The wave of pain caused him to gasp out louder than he had upon waking.

Ramuud entered at that moment a worried frown on his face. When he saw his daughter tending the injured Magician he merely nodded and moved closer. "You have been sleeping quite awhile, My Son. Are you hungry?" The man studied the boy's face, though he didn't give away what he looked for.

Presto nodded. "I can feel again-" _Brilliant, Presto! He asks about food and you blabber away. Get it together._

A smile, however, greeted the words and Ramuud moved to fetch a tray of dates, cool ices, and sweetmeats. The treats made Presto's eyes widen and the king felt a wave of gratitude for his daughter's suggestion of treats instead of actual food. He liked to see his children pleased.

"Whoa! Dessert first? This is great-" Presto's voice was still very sleepy but he allowed the others to help him sit so he could carefully grab a date. "And ices, too-that couldn't have been easy to get, Ramuud!"

The man laughed reassured completely that Presto would be fine. "I have ways, My Son, I have ways. Eat your treats for later it will be real food. A physician has come in your sleep to check on our efforts. He says you should heal well if you rest your foot completely. You are not even to attempt to rise before a fortnight has passed."

With a frown, Presto sorted the words and realized that meant fourteen days of strict bed rest. He flushed. "But-uh-I gotta-uh-" he glanced at Ayisha and his face flamed brighter.

Ramuud laughed and nodded. "Ayisha, if you will leave, My Daughter. I will tend to his needs for now. You may return in half an hour." He watched his daughter glide from the tent as Presto's color remained extremely high. When she left, the king laughed again. "Now, to take care of your personal needs, My Son," and he reached for the boy.

Presto nodded still embarrassed.

Continued in Chapter Fourteen: Heights of Determination


	14. Heights of Determination

Title: Heights of Determination

Series: The Never-ending Story 14 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Illness, Blood, embarrassing situations

Setting: Summer 1987: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Eric- 19, Uni- 14 (Elfish) but 4 (unicorn)

Summary: Eric and Uni are fighting their handicaps and the side of a mountain.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

It wasn't so bad. After a year of near constant dizziness, he'd actually gotten used to it for the most part. It only got really bad when he lay down, made a sudden movement, or changed position too quickly. Truly, vertigo wasn't as bad as it might seem. Yeah-and Eric would single-handedly save the world one day.

He snorted and, moving his head in the now habitual slow twist he'd learned to adopt, Eric studied the Elfish girl beside him. She looked like she was perhaps fourteen now, though technically the unicorn-turned-human was more like four years old with the mind of a teenager. He sighed, looked back to the mountainside they were climbing, and continued up at the crawl he'd adopted to deal with the steep rocky slope. Uni climbed just as slowly, more frustrated with her own difficulties than perhaps even Eric was with his vertigo.

She blew out between her lips every once in awhile, annoyed to be kept at a slow climb rather than scrambling up in her old fashion. As she was no longer an equine, however, climbing was not only different it was a whole other world. The pale girl in dingy white was still learning her limitations even after the year she'd been an Elf. It made her short tempered at times, like now.

With a yelp, more frightened neigh then human sound, Uni began to slip. Rocks and pebbles shifted, sliding with her, threatening to pick up momentum and toss her down the mountainside. Throwing out an arm, head spinning at the sharp movement, Eric managed to grasp that long red hair and hold on tight. He closed his eyes, leaning into the rock and dirt, trying to regain his equilibrium so he might complete this rescue and subsequent climb.

Frightened, pain-filled bleats made the Cavalier realize he didn't have time to recover. He was hurting his companion with his hard grasp. Sighing, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, the dark haired nineteen year old slowly started pulling the younger girl towards him. She gave a wordless yell and reached up to grasp him finally remembering she had hands. The feel of nails digging into his leg reassured the young man and he eased his grip, sliding his arm down the thin shoulders and back to get to her waist. His own body was in a dangerous twist for the maneuver and at any time they both risked plummeting off the mountain.

As he managed to grasp her waist, tightening the precarious hold, Eric felt the young girl start panicking. She started kicking at him, hitting and even turning her head to bite his arm. Pain seared through him and he was sorely tempted to just drop her but he fought that nasty impulse-and won pretty easily. Gripping harder, ignoring the pain in his arm, he clenched his teeth.

"Calm down, Uni. I've got you-but if you keep biting me, I'll let go." He wouldn't, but it never hurt to threaten the kid. Uni pretty much knew him by now and the words might break through the haze of fear in her mind.

Eric's gamble, mean as it had been, paid off. The girl released his arm from her strong bite. Instead of fighting him now she clutched in desperation. Fingernails still clawed at him but he could easily ignore that small pain for now. He risked opening his brown eyes and was stunned by the abject terror in Uni's maroon ones. How'd he forget her fear of heights? He'd seen it any number of times in the last four years, though for three Bobby had been the one to tend her and prevent her from panicking.

Soothingly, letting his voice deepen to a hypnotizing drawl, the young man continued to stare into his companion's eyes. "I've got you. Relax, Little Unicorn. You're safe now." He continued the platitudes, slowly, very slowly, pulling her up the length of him and to his back. He was relieved when he felt her arms twine around his neck, despite the chokehold she had. He could survive that for now. "Good, that's right. Hold on, Uni." With that Eric let go of her waist.

Her eyes widened, rolling slightly, but other than that, Uni didn't let her terror through. She was truly soothed by Eric's attempts, glad he was saving her. The girl held on tight to the strong neck, unaware of how painful her grip still was to the older human. She only knew that she was safe as long as she was in Eric's arms.

Just as carefully as he'd maneuvered the younger teen, Eric started climbing once more. The shield on his left arm made it difficult, but he would survive. He needed every ounce of willpower he had to continue despite the added weight and the limited air. What seemed like hours passed before they reached a ledge large enough that Eric felt they could rest. He struggled that last little bit up and over the rock lip, mentally sighing in relief.

The danger wasn't over though Uni immediately loosened her grip at the sight of the stone outcropping beneath them. Eric was fighting the now familiar, and sometimes very debilitating, headache in addition to the rising dizziness and nausea. He'd have to rest-perhaps for several hours-and on this high a shelf of rock the possibility of falling was even greater for the unbalanced Cavalier. With a groan, he let his eyes close as he lowered himself and Uni to the ledge, letting his head rest on the dirt and hard stone, hands and knees balanced as best he could to support his tired weight.

Uni slid from Eric's back, worry fighting the fear and slowly winning. Eric didn't look good: pale and shaky as he was. Uni tried to figure out if she'd hurt him badly or if it was his normal vertigo problem kicking in again. When her eyes came to rest on the blood leaking down his bitten arm consternation and self-guilt filled the former unicorn. She'd hurt him.

"Airk?"

A gentle petting on his hair brought the young man's attention away from settling his body. He blinked open dazed brown eyes and gulped back the nausea. The sight of the very worried girl caused him to struggle into a slow sitting position, leaning heavily on the rock face of the mountain.

"Yeah?" He gulped again, trying to rid himself of the increasing supply of saliva that always denoted a vomiting spell. This wasn't going to be good, he could tell. "Uh-Uni?" He hated to interrupt her, but his needs were going to quickly become the only thing important to the pair. "I'm gonna be sick-" And with that he rolled over and let the illness wash over him unaware at last of the actions or emotions of the Elfish girl he'd been protecting for a year.

This wasn't good. Uni gulped and glanced around near panicking all over again. How could she get them off the ledge? Slowly, worry driving her against her basic instincts, the small teen crept towards the edge of the outcropping. She had to check if going down would be better than trying to continue up. Fear and near panic fought the former unicorn's desire to help the Cavalier. Finally, after what was perhaps ten minutes, desire won out.

She gripped the rock with all the strength in her delicate looking hands. Moving in a sort of back-and-forth sway, Uni edged as close as she could, without actually looking over. Vertigo of an entirely different sort threatened to overcome the trim figure but she pressed on until, finally, with a deep intake of air, she peeked. Pushing back quickly, Uni let her mind register that going down that mountain was out of the question. She would never be able to go down even with Eric's soothing efforts.

Looking up was easier. It helped block the image of the rock dropping away and the ground so far away it was a mere blur of colors. In truth they hadn't climbed very many miles that day, but to Uni it seemed like hundreds. Up was shorter. Up she could see the end.

The sound of Eric being sick eased then came to an end. More out of pity than disgust, the girl turned to peer at her companion. He didn't get sick as much anymore, but it was still often enough to show on his lean body. He'd lost a lot of weight over the past months. That, mixed with the continuing exercise provided by the Realm, had turned the once pampered fifteen-year-old into an athletic, though illness-weakened, nineteen-year-old. The thought that Eric was considered an adult in his culture actually surprised the slim teenaged girl.

In her own culture, she was about the age that this human body showed: a teenager in development and emotions if not in human years. She'd always thought of Eric the same way, though. The thought that he was old enough, developed enough, to be considered a responsible adult made Uni want to laugh and cry together. She couldn't help wondering if Bobby was any more an adult now that he was in his own world. Depression swooped down on the former unicorn and she sighed, trying to push back thoughts of her best friend. He'd been gone a year but she still considered Bobby her first and dearest friend; she probably always would.

Thankfully, the sound of Eric moving distracted the girl and she turned towards him. He had pulled himself back up against the rock wall behind them, leaning there with a pale, shaking hand running over his face. He'd want to clean up but it wouldn't be possible yet. The debilitating illness he seemed to have showed heavily now, and the Cavalier merely rested, eyes closed, trying to steady his breath at least.

Uni felt her heart go out to him.

True, he'd been the most annoying person for the first three years of their acquaintance. And for the last year she'd been over-concerned with relearning everything she'd ever known, since she was Elfish not unicorn now. However, as each day passed, it became more apparent that the man really did put out an effort to keep them safe, keep them going, even without any direction or guidance. She'd managed to ask what they were supposed to be doing to fight this great evil and had been shocked that the dark-haired male had no idea. He'd grumbled and whined about it, too, but the complaints seemed to be merely old habit rather than genuine distress. He seemed to have confidence that they'd find out sooner rather than later.

Of course, Uni wasn't privy to his real thoughts and feelings just the ones he presented on the surface. It was highly probable that the Cavalier was just as angry as she was that Dungeon Master and Venger had left them weak, helpless, and in the middle of the Realm without anything further to guide them. Clinging to Eric's show of bravado kept her going, though-surely even being Elfish couldn't be so bad if he was confident that they would be fine.

With a gentle blow of air through her lips, the redhead turned and crawled over to her protector. She gently brushed the sweat-damp tendrils from his face, feeling the black tresses cling to her sensitive fingers. With a frown, Uni pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around bent knees, pushing away the odd sensations which had raced through her so briefly. She merely watched the man, instead, waiting for signs that his vertigo would ease and they could get off this cliff.

It was long moments later when Eric felt well enough to slowly open his eyes. He had been fully aware of Uni's efforts at soothing him and they were appreciated greatly. It had been a long time since anyone had cared to make him feel better. With a very slow turning of his head, the exhausted Cavalier looked at the brooding teen beside him. "Thanks, Uni." The words were soft and tired but sincere.

Uni gave him a brief startled glance then smiled in response. With a shrug of one shoulder, she restlessly, absently, stamped one foot on the ground then rose. "Myeah." Running her hands absently over her trouser legs, the girl looked up the cliff noticeably avoiding the edge. "Airk? Meow?"

"Meow?" Eric let himself chuckle over the mispronounced word. "Are you cat or unicorn?" He crept his way up the rock face behind him, just as careful as his companion to look up, not down. "It's _now_ you silly unicorn. People'll give you milk if you keep that up." The words were without rancor, however, and he widened his smile at her answering grin.

"Okay, I'm ready. This time, we'll do it a bit differently though." Eric was on his feet and the swaying was minimal. He was getting back under control. With the dizziness eased and the nausea gone, he could manage the ever-present headache. "I'm gonna strap this stupid shield to my back and you're gonna hold onto my front. That'll leave both hands free so we're steadier."

He glanced again at the girl and noticed her worried frown, the hint of fear in her eyes. That wouldn't do. Better to have her spitting mad at him then petrified again. His neck couldn't take another wringing. "I could just leave you here. _I'm_ not the coward who can't climb up."

That did it. Her eyes narrowed and she stamped her foot, tossing her head so her long mane of red hair flipped over her thin shoulders. Striding purposefully over to the taller human, ignoring the drop not feet from her, Uni took the magic shield he still sported on his left arm. She didn't even pause to think why he'd not kept it on his right arm as was habitual for him. She merely lifted an imperious finger and twirled it forcefully, bleating, "Myuern!"

Eric's mocking grin enraged her further as he slowly crawled his way around to face the cliff.

He felt her fastening the shield to his cloak, vaguely wondering how in the world he'd managed to keep that article of clothing in her earlier panic attack. When she finished and slipped in front of him, Eric slowly looked down and gentled his smile. "Okay, Uni, up you go." He gripped her slim waist in his strong hands and lifted her until she was able to clasp her arms around his neck. "Hide your face so you don't have to see, Kid."

And with the feel of her face burrowing against his shoulder, Eric reached up and gripped the precarious surface of the mountain. He took a deep breath, willing the vertigo away as he slowly began the climb. He could see the edge, concentrated on it in fact, and as it inched closer confidence welled inside. The Cavalier knew that with patience, and if his waning strength held out, they'd get to the top and be able to have a real rest-in safety.

Uni didn't look down. She trusted Eric to carry her safely to the top-of course she did. But even she could tell he was weak, feel the trembling in his entire body. It had been too soon since he'd gotten sick. He'd needed more rest. The feel of something thick and sticky trailing onto her neck and face from his upraised arm alarmed her. He still had that bleeding bite wound untreated. How could he do this? How could she let him?

Wanting to tell him to stop, to wait for awhile longer, Uni opened her eyes and peeked up. She blinked in wonder at the set features she found. Eric was concentrating very hard on his task, his brown eyes intense, his handsome face harsh with the effort. Something was almost hypnotic in the sheer power and determination that radiated from the man. Uni had to close her eyes against the unfamiliar pull. Burying her face in his shoulder once more, she decided to simply wait until they got to the top then yell at him for being a fool.

It was several more long minutes before Uni became aware of an odd occurrence. Eric was talking. Actually, he was making a low, rumbling noise, but she couldn't hear the words. She could feel the vibration through his chest though. The low unintelligible sound, and the near-purring sensation, soothed the former unicorn and she found herself smiling into the cloth before her face. Eric was giving her the sensation of being content despite the circumstances. It was refreshing to think the Cavalier was that-relaxed.

The sensation was interrupted abruptly as Eric stopped, his arms straining to keep them both dangling on the mountainside. His low rumble turned to genuinely audible words as he instructed the girl to turn in his arms. She was afraid to, shaking her head against his shoulder, refusing to even look at him. She knew he'd be angry and disappointed in her.

Eric felt frustration welling and squashed it. He'd yell at her later. Right now he had to get her off his neck. He couldn't hold on much longer; he needed Uni to climb the rest of this by herself. Resorting, once more, to the soothing manner that had worked so well in her panic, Eric deepened his voice and chose placating words.

"Come on, you're safe. We're at the top now, Little Unicorn: just a couple of feet. You can do it. Turn around and grab the rock. That's my brave girl. Turn and grab, Uni." He continued to coax, willing his strength to hold out. He was rewarded with a worried glance and Uni blowing in a show of nerves. Then, without warning, Uni twisted around and gripped the cliff face with one hand. Eric smiled winningly at the girl when she worriedly looked up at him. "That's right, Little Unicorn. Now your other hand. I won't let you fall."

With gentle words in her ears, Uni managed to twist around further, gripping the rock wall in hands turned white with strain. She glanced up, morbidly wondering how much Eric was going to make her climb, and was stunned to see the top right above her head. It would only be a handhold or two more and she'd be on the top. They'd made it.

A joyful bleat escaped the girl and she found new strength. If it hadn't been for the lean, hard body pressed against her back, the girl would have forgotten herself so far as to try to scramble up which would probably have resulted in her slipping. Instead she felt the exhaustion of the man behind her and tamped down her enthusiasm. It could wait. Right now they had to get to the top in a safe manner.

She reached up, groping for a handhold. When she found it the girl tensed her muscles and pulled the weight of her thin body up. It wasn't easy. The incline was greater here than where she'd fallen. Only the feel of Eric mirroring her movements gave her the strength of will to defy muscles and gravity to grip another handhold and pull again. It was the third reaching grasp that connected with the lip of the mountain tip.

"Wheeehinnn!" The whinny couldn't be repressed as Uni scrambled over the side and lay panting in delight on top. She turned to smile at Eric only to see his grip faltering. "Myuooo!" Throwing herself to the cliff-side the teen grabbed the weakened hand and held on as tight as she could. She tugged backwards, trying to will her friend up that last stretch. "Airk! Meow!"

The sudden give against her muscles sent her tumbling backwards. Uni felt the hand pull from her grasp and she flailed blindly, trying to grip it once more. A shriek of fear and defiance ripped from her lips and tears started welling up. "Myuoooo! Airk!"

His soft, tired chuckle brought her to a complete standstill, eyes snapping wide in shock.

There he lay, dark hair plastered to his face with dirt and sweat. His clothes were tattered in places from their climb, his armor still bundled in the cape he'd managed to retain the entire time. Lifting his face from the dusty ground, the man grinned up at the teen before heaving a deep sigh and letting tired brown eyes close. "Yeah, Uni. We made it."

The former unicorn grinned suddenly, all anger and worry forgotten as she crawled over to sink next to the tired Cavalier. With a soft blowing of air, Uni started untying the bundle of cloth and metal. When she had him relieved of the extra burden, the girl looked around for some way to clean her companion up. Thankfully there were several pockets of still water around. She dipped his cloak in one and brought it back, starting on the dried blood of the bite wound she'd inflicted on him.

Eric didn't protest despite the renewed pain. It was enough just to be able to lie there and know he wasn't going to spin off the cliff. Sure, he felt like it at the moment, especially with his eyes closed, but he still knew it wasn't going to happen. The efforts of the girl to help him merely made him smile, glad he'd managed to keep her safe, too. If she accidentally hurt him with her still unfamiliar Elfish hands, he'd put up with it. After he caught his breath he'd worry about getting rid of the sour taste in his mouth.

Uni tilted her head as she worked, her soft "Airk" bringing the man's attention to focus once more. Without waiting for his habitual "Yeah," the teen continued. "Wheeyiii?" Seeing his eyes open and watching her, Uni gestured with a hand towards the cliff then to the pair of them.

He chuckled softly. Letting himself continue to rest, Eric asked, "Why'd I help or why'd we climb?" He watched to get the bodily clues so necessary to understanding Uni's speech.

She thought that over then shrugged and grinned back. "Myuovvv."

"Okay. Both. Uhﾅ" Eric looked like he was going to tease her with some far-fetched story concerning why he'd kept her safe and sane, but it turned out that his drawn out thoughts were for the other question. "I felt there might be answers up here? I mean, we've been firmly on the same level for the past year and nothing. I figured it couldn't hurt to climb a bit higher and see if DM'd pop up and give us a stupid riddle." He refrained from shaking his head, having learned to curb such stupid movements early on. "That was a mistake I don't think I'll repeat."

Nodding, Uni waited for the other answer-the one that meant more to her. They'd only gotten along for a year and sometimes she needed confirmation that she wasn't a burden: a silly baby unicorn who'd kept her friends from going home. Eric may not be looking for home at the moment but she still felt like she was holding him back sometimes.

Eric solemnly looked over the redhead by his side. Just as important to him was the idea that Uni didn't think he was a useless whiner who couldn't pull his own weight. True, he'd done a great deal more now that it was just the pair of them but something about her watchful gaze always made him think he had to prove himself, so he didn't let her down-like he'd let the others down so many times. "I saved you because I like you, Kid. Now stop being so serious and smile for me. We've conquered a mountain." The grin he threw her was answered and Eric relaxed once more.

Comfortable silence passed between the two and neither could say how long it'd been. But eventually the Cavalier felt it was high time he got himself cleaned up. With a careful push, glad that the dizziness had once more subsided to a mere annoyance, he crawled towards the nearest pool of water. It wasn't the freshest but it was certainly better than the taste of stale vomit and gritty dirt.

Sitting up, Eric began stripping off his shirt and trousers, signaling to another pool nearby. "Uni, might as well bathe now. Never know when we'll get this kind of free spa again." He dipped his hand in the water and was pleased to find it cool and refreshing. Without checking to see if the girl followed his instructions, the Cavalier started washing the grime and sick off of himself, scrubbing his clothes as best he could without any soap.

Uni closed her mouth which had dropped open. She tore her eyes from the expanse of flesh before her and, flushing bright red, hurried to a pool to bathe. She'd seen Eric stripped to his shorts before, numerous times in the past year, but somehow it was different this time. For the first time, Uni was totally aware of the muscles that rippled over his back and thighs. She had to concentrate on stripping, feeling embarrassed that he might see her in just her underclothes despite how often she'd stripped down before.

Unaware of Uni's discomfort, Eric finished bathing, rinsing his mouth thankfully with the cool water. A fresh breeze was caressing over the mountaintop, and it made the Cavalier want to stretch out and enjoy the summer sunshine. Even with four suns overhead he knew it would be easy to pretend he hadn't a care in the world at that moment.

Finally, he glanced over at the once unicorn and smiled. "Hey, Kid. You planning on taking all day in there?" He was surprised to see her jump in shock, and frowned, wondering what it could mean. Was she still nervous even though they were a bit away from the cliff edge? "Sooner you're done, Uni, sooner we can get moving." He frowned further as she darted him a glance of what he could only term misery. What had happened to the carefree kid he'd helped up the mountain?

"Uni?" Eric stood and approached her cautiously, praying the vertigo would stay away for the moment. He didn't like how she refused to look him in the eye,as if he'd done something wrong. "C'mon, Kid, what's up? Why-" he froze. Suddenly it dawned on him that the girl was about fourteen. That meant hormones galore.

Understanding radiated throughout the man's body and he turned, without a word, to pull on his still wet clothes. _Damn if Uni's not suddenly shy. Probably doesn't like the idea of me anywhere near her right now. I wonder-_ he wanted to fight the idea that she might be having other female-type problems as well but knew it was a genuine problem they'd have to deal with-and soon apparently. Eric waited a very long time before turning again.

He was pleased to see Uni dressed and composed. She was now looking at him with those wide maroon eyes an air of expectancy around her. Apparently she was determined to forget the embarrassing scene of him seeing her in her drawers so he'd let it drop, too. Instead he slipped to the ground beside her and gently smiled. "Hey, Uni-we need to talk, don't we?"

When she lifted her eyes to meet his directly, Eric's smile slipped. He couldn't do this. Heck, the only time he'd discussed puberty with his dad, the old man had told him to get some condoms before dating. That was it; he'd been expected to find out the rest from school or some other source. Eric had been so unpopular, despite his arrogant claims, that he'd never had to worry about what else the whole growing-up-around-girls meant. Physical Education taught him the way things worked in the bodies but that was nothing to having to deal with a girl one-on-one. Thank god he wasn't trying to seduce her in the back of his dad's limo or something.

"Right. Talk." He shook himself out of his nerves and tried to recall what the teacher had droned on about. He'd always figured it was the girl's job to both protect herself and deal with any of the other details of womanhood. Thus paying attention in class hadn't been as much of a priority as looking superior and rich. He'd try, though-he owed his young friend that much. "So-uh-how old are you anyway?" _Nice start, jerk,_ he chastised himself.

With a thoughtful look, confusion tingeing her maroon eyes, the teen shrugged and held up four fingers. At his nod, she tried to puzzle out just how much in human that would be-in case that was what he'd meant. "Nyerrrkee-" She shook her head and snorted in displeasure but was surprised when Eric chuckled.

"Okay, let me try, Kid. You're four years old. Born in spring, like any colt, huh? Oh, wait, for girls it's filly, right?" She nodded and he continued. "Okay, you look about fourteen, give or take." With a stamp and a bleat she indicated he had said something right. He grinned wider. "Fourteen? That's not a bad age really."

It was a start at least. Eric thought quickly then decided to just plunge in, embarrass them both, and get it over with quicker. "Okay, have you started your-fertility cycle yet, Kid? Cause we'll need to get you something for that; I mean, you're always wearing white and I know how much girls hate white that time of month." There, he'd said it. He'd asked the worst question. Now, he merely watched her, pretending nonchalance he didn't feel.

The heat flaring in Uni's pale face indicated her embarrassment. She shook her head, averting her eyes and blowing through her lips. Taking a breath, deciding to act as adult as he seemed to be treating her, she looked back at him, meeting those questioning brown eyes. "Myuoooo."

Eric was long familiar now with some of Uni's speech. "No-you haven't started yet." He nodded and smiled at her, beaming in relief really. "Good. We'll find a way to get you something before it happens then, right? Okay. That subject's over. Now the rest should be easier." It wasn't of course. How did a guy talk with a unicorn-turned-girl about the female mysteries? "So, I guess this means you want me to stop looking when you're washing and changing, right? Okay, no problem."

Her sudden intake of breath, followed by a whoosh, indicated he'd been pretty much dead on. At least he thought that's what it meant. Most girls surprised him by reacting totally differently from what he'd assumed but Uni'd been predictable so far. He hoped it stayed that way. It was easier if they had an open relationship.

With a blink of surprise, Eric realized he'd never been this close to another human being. His dad was pretty much faceless to him now barely a smudge in his memory. That showed how often he'd seen the man. The others he hadn't let get close despite the dangers they'd faced as a group. But having only Uni for real company this past year had united them in a way the Cavalier hadn't fully appreciated until that moment. It made him feel like a big brother to the girl-a feeling he found he really liked.

"So, let's get going, right, Kid?" He grinned deciding to drop the subject of puberty once more. He didn't want Uni to shy away from him thinking he was some sort of perverted jerk or something. Standing slowly, Eric offered the girl a hand up then looked towards the horizon. "We'll head that way until we find something useful, like a town or maybe the little runt. Boy would I like to get my hands on him right now."

Uni laughed her braying laugh, and Eric chuckled along with her. As she gathered his equipment for him he started humming once more, the same song he'd used for those last few yards up the mountain. As the teen helped the man put his armor back on he became aware of her odd stare trained on him.

Eric lifted one dark brow and cocked his head. "What's up, Uni? My humming off-key?" He eased his cloak over his shoulders becoming aware just how painful the bite on his arm was. He'd need to see to it when they found a town; hopefully it wouldn't be infected by then.

"Ssummh?"

"Huh?" That was a new word to him-which meant it was a new one to her, too. Reaching through his mental images, he tried to figure just what the girl would be referring to with her unknown question. Finally, something seemed to click. "Song?"

She nodded and grinned.

"Oh, just a stupid song from summer camp. '_The Bear went Over the Mountain_'. It's pretty lame, actually." He grinned, but saw the curiosity in her eyes. With a sigh, draping his injured arm carefully across her shoulders, feeling odd since the bite meant he'd have to carry his shield on his weaker left arm, Eric got them walking. "Oh, okay. It goes like this-but don't say I didn't warn you."

And as the pair began walking towards the darkening horizon, Eric sang the words to the children's song in a pleasant baritone, the couple in harmony with the world around them for the time being.

Continued in Chapter Fifteen: Gypsies, Tramps, and Prophets


	15. Gypsies, Tramps, and Prophets

Title: Gypsies, Tramps, and Prophets

Series: The Never-ending Story 15 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Lorne- 21, Kosar- 25 going on 26, Bobby- 17 going on 18

Summary: The first of the Young Ones get together, but it's not the happy reunion any of them expected.

Note: The lyrics Bobby uses are from the song "When the Children Cry" by White Lion.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

The word that came out of Lorne's mouth was not one Kosar had heard before, but he understood the general meaning. He felt the same way. Turning, the older man reached out to help the younger from the sucking mud they were trying to traverse. Lorne glared at him and shook him off, insisting he could do it himself.

After nearly five years of traveling over all terrain and through all weather the guys had gotten to know each other pretty well. Kosar couldn't help thinking that his companion was one of the problems they'd been having. True, he'd tried to give Lorne the benefit of the doubt, but being turned away from town after town after the youth had gotten sulky, defensive, or derisive was starting to wear on the normally calm Psionicist. That, added to the fact that apparently Psionics were illegal in most parts of the Realm, made life pretty hard.

Fortunately Lorne was used to being an outcast and knew how to survive in the wilderness. That was a great boon as Kosar had not yet regained his knowledge of directions or the stars. He did, on the other hand, add his soothing touch to their many confrontations, preventing either of the wanderers from being arrested-or worse.

Rain continued to pour down on the two men as they slogged their way through what was once a dirt road. It was now mud up to their ankles, deeper in spots, and the stench which rose from it, spoke of years of filth and animals. Kosar tried to block the image of just what had made the awful odors.

"Lorne, up ahead. See the stones?" Kosar's odd, calming voice was more felt than heard, but he'd gotten the point across.

The younger man glanced up, into the driving rain to see what his companion was talking about. Following the pointing finger, the Gypsy could see a huge ring of standing stones in the near distance. How they'd miss seeing it earlier was beyond his reasoning, probably the poor visibility from the weather. Instead of answering, knowing Kosar would understand without the need of words, Lorne nodded and determinedly set a course for the rocky barrier. Anything would be better than this open road at the moment.

Kosar trudged after his friend, not bothering to point out that he'd only meant Lorne to look, not change direction. He, too, wanted out of the biting cold. If those stones could shelter them who was he to complain?

It took at least an hour of straight walking to reach a reasonably firm area. The natural hill of land apparently sported little in the way of grass or soil, the bare rock showing in large patches. Both men exchanged grins and hurried for the protection of the large barrier. Suddenly they simultaneously became aware that there was no rain on this plateau-the bad storm seemed to end sharply just before the hill started.

A creepy feeling overcame Lorne and he hugged himself, frowning severely. It could have been a coincidence that the weather stopped there-but he was willing to bet it was something else. Something about these standing stones might very well create a sort of vortex against the laws of nature. He turned to tell Kosar but caught a glimpse of the man's genuine joy at being out of the rain. With a shake of his head, the Gypsy resolved to let his friend have a break but to keep his eyes open.

Sighing in relief, the Psionicist sped his walk up a bit, aiming for the center of this unexpected haven. He threw a pleased look over his shoulder. Unfortunately Kosar made an error in judging the distance from the closest stone, for he barreled right into it. With a yelp, he was thrown to his backside on the rocky surface, once again mentally cursing himself for the lack of all directional sense-including depth perception.

Lorne yelped with laughter, bent over and literally slapping his soggy knee. "Oh-oh-that was good-you are the-biggest-clutz-" he was wheezing in his glee over his companion's misfortune. "Man-the look-on your face-" The twenty three year old wiped at the tears running down his face, chortling and snickering at the older man's discomfort.

"Yes, quite amusing. Thanks for your support." Kosar couldn't help but smile despite being the brunt of the joke. It was so rare that he saw Lorne laughing, he could forgive him this time. Instead, he turned his head to study the stones towering above them. "It makes you wonder what their purpose may have been."

"Oh, that's easy. They were put here as a meeting place for great warriors uniting against a horrendous foe."

Both men jumped and turned startled glanced towards the middle of the ring of stones. That amused baritone hadn't belonged to either of them. It sounded young, and male, but definitely not a voice either recognized. For once Lorne wished he and Kosar had weapons.

Out of the chilly darkness, from between two of the larger stones, stepped a teenaged male. Crossing his arms in a leisurely fashion, he leaned against the nearby stone with a smug grin on his handsome features. He had a muscular build and slightly shaggy blonde hair. There was something about the crossed leather harness and fur loin cloth he wore that tugged at the memory, but the thing which gave away his identity to the two travelers was the large, solid looking wooden club dangling nonchalantly from one hand.

"Bobby?" Lorne straightened, a shocked look crossing his rounded face. He wasn't as handsome as the young Barbarian, but girls still swooned over his dark broody looks. Right now, though, hardly anyone would recognize the aloof, angry young man in the merry looking features presented. "Hot dog! I found you guys!"

The teen laughed as he was swooped into a bear hug by Lorne. "Yo!" Pushing away, Bobby turned to Kosar and his eyes widened in surprise. "Kosar? Whoa! I thought you went home ages ago."

"I did. I am back now."

The more mental than audio voice wasn't lost on the Barbarian as he reached out to shake the man's hand. He tilted his head with a slight frown. "I don't remember you sounding like that. What happened to you? And you, Lorne?" He belatedly turned back to the younger man, including him in the reunion once more.

Lorne shrugged without comment merely rolling his eyes expressively as Kosar explained about the past four years. Bobby listened intently, especially to the part where Dungeon Master had enlisted Lorne's help then the place in the story where the boys had met and discovered their losses. With a gentle smile, Kosar wrapped up the long tale.

By that time all three had sat down in the center of the stone circle. Bobby nodded thoughtfully and absently, gently beat a tattoo on his hand with the club. The others watched him thinking for a moment before Lorne interrupted testily. "So, where's everyone else? They run off or something? Just like that stupid _Caviar_."

Bobby's head shot up, and his light blue eyes narrowed but not out of anger. He merely contemplated the pair of adults before him then shrugged as nonchalantly as he'd swung his club before. "I have no idea where they are, Lorne. We got split up ages ago."

Kosar frowned and looked thoughtfully at the young Barbarian. "How long ago?" He leaned forward, blocking the sight of Lorne's shock in order to not become distracted.

With a shrug and a laugh he didn't feel, Bobby said, "I think about eight years ago-at least it was for me. It might have been less here, though. I went home. The others stayed." He found he couldn't look at the guys suddenly and started studying the cloudy sky.

"Whoa-I thought they all wanted to go home?" Lorne pushed forward, making Kosar sit back. "I mean, that's what Eric was always ragging on about, right?"

"Yeah." Bobby stood and frowned at the rainstorm just beyond the hill. "We got the choice to stay and help or go home. Or..." and here he kicked the ground hard, glaring at his boot, "they got the choice. Sheila pushed me into the portal before I could stop her. I wound up back to the time I left-and got grounded, too." He turned his glare to the others.

Having no idea what being grounded entailed in the world Bobby came from, Kosar none-the-less understood that it must have been an unwarranted punishment of some kind. He leaned forward and started murmuring soothing words which Bobby ignored. He was interrupted once more by the impetuous Lorne, finding Lorne's attitude a bit frustrating as he did now and then.

"So," Lorne jumped to his feet and yanked Kosar up without warning. "We need to find them. Dungeon Master said to find the _Children of Power_. We might not be kids anymore, but we are definitely the ones he's talking about. Any idea where we can find them? I'm supposed to get them together to fight."

Bobby shook his head then shrugged. "Yeah, so am I. I was told you guys would show up here, so I waited. Guess we just start walking and hope to find them. I was thinking on revisiting all the old places the gang went before. Maybe some of them went back there?"

Massaging his arm, Kosar quietly agreed. As Lorne also agreed, the trio started walking away from the rain down the opposite hillside. Apparently Bobby knew where he was going so they quietly let him take the lead.

xxx

Bobby walked ahead of the other two a foot or so. He was lost in thought, worrying about the others and wondering how Teri was faring back at home. He was distracted enough that an enemy could probably sneak up on them and get a free attack, but enemies weren't what was on the seventeen year old's mind at the moment.

He hadn't exactly told the truth to the others. Dungeon Master had said that someone he was waiting for would show up at the stones, but he hadn't said _who_ it'd be. In fact, Bobby hadn't for moment thought it'd be anyone other than one of his friends-close friends. Lorne and Kosar were okay, but he barely knew them. As far as he remembered, Lorne was always trading sarcastic barbs with Eric and Kosar had always been talking with Diana. Neither had been overly concerned with becoming close to the youngest member of the group. It would have been far better, in Bobby's opinion, if they'd wound up with their own friends. Baby-sitting a couple of men without any weapons or fighting skills wasn't exactly the Barbarian's idea of a great assignment.

The air began to get even colder and Bobby wished he'd asked Dungeon Master to let him keep his jeans and T-shirt. This loin cloth was colder than a witch's... he cut the thought off with a sour chuckle, and had to explain the joke to the older guys-twice to Kosar. Glancing over the horizon, the teen found himself again wishing he'd never gotten back on that stupid ride. He could have been home with Terri, warm and safe.

Shaking his head, the Barbarian chastised himself for laziness. He'd wanted to help Sheila, right? So here he was back in the Realm, and the first day hadn't passed before he was sounding like Eric whining about home. Ruefully Bobby turned his head to study his companions, making himself try to spot the good qualities in the pair.

Didn't help; all he could see was a couple of guys a few years older than him without anything that could possibly aid in the coming war. Kosar's claim to fame was his star gazing abilities, but he'd already admitted the _Void_ had taken that away. And when last Bobby'd met Lorne, the kid had been sporting an unlucky amulet and a stalking wizard-until he'd smartened up and ditched both for a life with the gypsies. Bobby sighed. This was going to be one hell of a bad trip. He could feel it in his very cold bones.

It was Kosar tripping and tumbling headlong into the blond that made Bobby pull out of his morose thoughts. He caught himself before hitting the rock-strewn ground, turning and frowning at the brown-haired man. "Watch where you're going, Kosar. I can't carry you if you break your leg." He knew his tone was grumpy and impatient, but he didn't care at the moment.

Kosar flushed and nodded, muttering something. Fortunately his psionic mind-voice made it very clear to the others, even without the aid of volume. "I cannot tell depths. I am sorry."

Bobby's frown deepened and he ran a hand through his hair, impatient with this whole fiasco. "Well, that helps, doesn't it? Should we slow down?" At Kosar's further blush, the teen felt a stab of guilt. He ducked his head and apologized, wondering when he'd turned into such a jerk. The answer came unbidden: when he hit his teens and still couldn't get back to the Realm.

Squatting, reaching to help his long-time companion, Lorne merely shrugged at Bobby. "Yeah, well, we're all wet and tired, you know? We need some sort of shelter-and food would be nice. We haven't had anything for two days."

"What!" Bobby whirled around and stared at the twenty three year old in shock. He felt instant guilt well up stronger. "Great, so that's why Kosar's tripping over himself. We'll-" He looked around, surprised how far they'd traveled in the last six hours. "I know. There's a town over there, but they aren't real friendly. We'd find better tidings if we could wait a day-but you guys can't."

The blond racked his brains for anything he could do to aid these two. After all, useless as they seemed, Dungeon Master wouldn't have given him them if they were totally helpless. And he sure couldn't have them fainting away on him. Finally, his eyes lit up and he nodded.

"Okay, here's what we'll do..."

xxx

The villagers were having a town meeting which was extremely fortunate for Bobby's group. The Barbarian, dressed now in Lorne's gypsy clothes, knowing his own information about the town would be more helpful than a genuine gypsy at the moment, strode right up to the large gathering and cleared his throat. Thank goodness he had Kosar and his telepathy to back him up as well. He struck a dramatic pose and, in very serious tones, said "I will predict the future for the first, and only the first, person who offers food to my brethren." Sure, it was corny as hell, but it certainly worked.

This town was full of the superstitious. They were always wondering about what the fates would play out for them. Wanderers were treated with food and shelter, but only in the off chance that it would prevent said travelers from cursing the people of the village. Thus five people immediately jumped to claim Bobby's offer of fortune for food. The first one to claim such prize was the very man who was leader of the people.

Bobby didn't nod-didn't smile-didn't even relax. Instead, moving with great precision and pomp, the teen headed for the chief's seat. As fortune telling was beyond him, Bobby decided to do his best Presto imitation and merely recite the words of something he already knew that these people wouldn't. Standing in front of the chief, with his back to the crowd, the Barbarian played his role for all he was worth. He raised his hands to the sky, letting his head fall back ever so slightly, and lowered his voice into an impressively deep baritone.

_"Little child, dry your crying eyes. How can I explain the fear you feel inside? 'Cause you were born into this evil world where man is killing man, and no one knows just why. What have we become? Just look what we have done: all that we destroyed, you must build again."_

He paused to see what effect his words were having on the chief. That man was sitting on the edge of his seat, his watery green eyes wide and staring. His breath was coming in short pants and he seemed to be hanging on Bobby's every word. The teen had never been so thankful for _White Lion_ before. He continued in the same stentorian manner.

_"Little child, you must show the way to a better day for all the young. 'Cause you were born for all the world to see that we all can live with love and peace. No more presidents and all the wars will end: one united world under God."_

Peeking again at the man, the blond was suddenly struck by the idea that the guy might have a heart attack from the tension. He pushed that thought from his mind and concentrated on the lyrics he'd memorized to one of his favorite songs. It was time for the dramatic finish to his dire _prediction_.

_"When the children cry, let them know we tried. When the children fight, let them know it ain't right. When the children pray, let them know the way. 'Cause when the children sing, then the new world begins."_

With that Bobby threw his head forward, letting his eyes roll back until only the whites showed, a habit Sheila had always said was disgusting. He let his body start to go limp, as if his strength was failing now he was done speaking to the forces beyond. Several men jumped forward to support him. A buzz of conversation surrounded the young Barbarian, discussing what he could have meant, what could possibly be done.

Finally, as Bobby was beginning to think he'd failed in his attempts, the chief stood. In a commanding tone he ordered food brought for the Gypsy and his people. Then the man turned and hurried away, signaling his counselors to accompany him so they might deal with whatever had been forewarned for them. It worked!

People of all ages rushed forward to support the young man towards a seat. At his mental call, Kosar led the shivering, grumpy Lorne, dressed in Bobby's loincloth, towards the center of town. The people were surprised, wondering just how the men could have known the prophecy was completed, but gathered supplies for the newcomers as well.

For three guys trying to find a group of warriors to battle the coming evil, they weren't doing so bad.

Continued in Chapter Sixteen: Nothing Good is Ever Overheard


	16. Nothing Good is Ever Overheard

Title: Nothing Good is Ever Overheard

Series: The Never-ending Story 16 / 33

Rating: PG-13: some language, but nothing much else

Setting: Summer 1987 then 1991: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Hank- 19 going on 20 then 23 going on 24, Timothy- 17

Summary: Hank finally finds out just what he's supposed to be doing.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Wiping the sweat from his brow, the blond man stepped back to take a short break. He'd been chopping wood in payment for a meal he'd already eaten, but the four blazing suns overhead made the work extremely hot. He'd been working all morning and certainly no one could expect the young man to continue at that pace without some rest and hopefully some water.

Hearing a noise behind him, the twenty-one year old turned and smiled absently at the giggling teenaged girls heading towards him. However, at the sight of their widely rounded eyes, he belatedly remembered that he'd stripped off his studded leather hauberk and green tunic earlier in the day. He reached for the garment, nodding a greeting as nonchalantly as possible. He didn't need to cause trouble with the villagers by flaunting himself.

With another giggle, one of the girls offered him a drink. The other breathlessly asked after his chore. Accepting and drinking, the young man said, "I've almost finished," then gestured to the few logs still left to fall under his borrowed axe.

"Girls! Come away and let the man have some peace! You've brought him the water so be gone now-you've your own chores to finish, I'll warrant." A large man strode up the hill, fiercely frowning at his daughters, sending them scurrying away like frightened mice. "Ah, girls will be girls, eh, neighbor?" He glanced around at the nearly completed task and rubbed his hands together happily.

The blond smiled and nodded, but didn't respond. He was too busy trying to recapture a fleeting memory. Something involving a pair of teenaged girls. They hadn't been giggling, but had been. . . In frustration, the young man shook his head, unconsciously frowning, as the elusive memory once more slipped into oblivion.

The man crossed his work-stained arms over his large chest and grunted, misreading the young stranger's expression. "I'll keep 'em away from you, then, neighbor. Don't need those foolish girls upsetting the finest worker I've ever had." He tried a grin.

Shaking out of the temporarily grim backlash of forgetting, the younger man returned it and went back to work, quickly making his way through the small pile of remaining logs. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it." He paused, then clarified, "I don't want them to misunderstand my purpose here-I'm searching for friends."

"Not a wife, eh?" The large man let out a crack of laughter and nodded amiably. "Not a problem, neighbor, not a problem. Say-" He laughed again at his own foolishness, "you never did tell me your name, neighbor. Been working a week in this here village and nary a word."

Finally done, Hank straightened and offered the axe with a genuine smile. "No one ever asked, actually. I'm Hank." And with that, he retrieved his bow from beside the woodpile and headed down the hill, waving in goodbye to the jovial man he'd been helping.

Walking through the tiny village, Hank met smiles wherever he went. He returned them, nodding at those he'd helped the week he'd stayed there. It certainly was odd. He recalled every person and creature he'd met in the last year, but only bare hints from before that. What could have stripped away his memory and why?

The young man found himself thinking back again to the odd old lady that he'd met that first day. She'd said he'd gone through the _Void_. He was inclined to believe the words except for the fact that she'd turned out to be a phantom. She'd been in a cursed, burnt out town; could he really trust her word? Something told him he could. She'd helped him escape the clutching, circling wraiths bent on keeping him there forever. Also-something about her was familiar. He was certain he'd known her before.

And what of those two girls he'd so briefly remembered? Neither of them were people he'd met after his amnesia had set in, so they must have come from his forgotten past. Had they been friends or merely girls he'd noticed in passing? No-they had to be friends; that felt right.

Hank smiled and left town again starting on his long lonely journey looking for faceless friends he knew must be out there. Someday he'd find them-and home-but for now he'd keep looking. At least he remembered one more, small tidbit to add to his so meager collection of personal facts. He could store the girls' faces right next to the slightly clearer image of the blond boy he was sure was his brother.

Suddenly, something tugged his attention away from the road. With a frown the Ranger headed off into the lightly wooded field, wondering just what had attracted his attention. His questions, however, were soon horrifically answered.

A clearing broke ahead of him and Hank stopped still in the trees. He knew that anyone looking his way would most likely spot him but was unaware of the true danger he'd put himself into. The blond frowned as he saw a figure rise up, talking in a deep voice to someone hidden further in the shadows. The Ranger was unable to catch the words but something seemed familiar about the figure.

Instinct suddenly took over and Hank found himself backing from the clearing as quietly as he could. He knew deep down that the figure was looking for him-and not to simply ask for farm chores. Some type of unidentifiable memory informed the Ranger that the people in the wood wanted him dead. The knowledge shook him to the core.

When the road came into sight the blond hurried along it, listening for sounds of pursuit. Fortunately it seemed that he'd gotten away-this time. _This time? Has he followed me before? Captured me or injured me?_ Hank was surprised to figure out that the answer was almost certainly _Yes_. Or-if not him, then at least a very close friend of his. Had that been who had sent him through the _Void_ and robbed him of his past?

The Ranger thought back over the menacing figure in blue armor and shook his head. The power behind that man, terrifying as it had been, was not what had sent him wandering alone. Of that, Hank was certain. Somehow, it seemed that a gentler, more caring power had opened the _Void_ and that Hank had voluntarily gone through. He didn't know why he'd done that, or who it was had sent him, but suddenly, after a year of pretty much aimless wandering, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

He had to find the man who teleported him.

xxx

"Ranger? Ranger! Wait up, sir!"

Hank turned, frowning slightly at the sound of the young male voice calling out to him. The teen didn't seem familiar to the twenty-five year old, but he acted as if he knew the man. With a welcoming smile, Hank prepared to meet the lad, wondering if he'd be helping rebuild a cottage or planting crops or something equally satisfying yet tedious.

He'd spent the last four years wandering the Realm in search of people he couldn't remember and a past maybe even better left forgotten. The blond man didn't plan to give up on that search, though he wasn't rushing it either. His journeys had led him all over the world, helping those he passed in whatever way he could, and somehow that felt like what he was meant to be doing. If he never found his lost memories, at least he could say he'd helped rebuild a war ravaged world.

Finally the teen in the scale mail armor caught up to the place Hank stood waiting. He bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. Light brown hair, shaggy and sweaty, clung to his brow and a slim, almost weak-looking body was clad in loose nondescript clothes and worn armor. The lad had a small shield on his left arm and a short sword in a dingy hilt on his belt. All in all, it looked like the youth was a poor man's knight-in-training.

When he caught his breath, which Hank allowed him plenty of time to do, the lad stood and grinned widely. "Wow! I never thought to ever see you again, Ranger! This is wonderful."

_Again?_ Hank's light blue eyes widened and he suddenly realized that here was one of those links to the past he'd been searching for. He still didn't recognize the light-haired teen, but that didn't prevent him from widening his smile and gently clasping his arm in greeting. Honestly he said, "I've had an injury and cannot remember your name, but I feel you were, indeed, someone I would want to meet again. My name's Hank."

"And I'm Sir Timothy-though you barely knew me, so I can't fault you for forgetting, injury or no. My father was a comrade of yours for a few days: Sir John? You helped him fight a Beholder, Hank." Sir Timothy looked pleased to clasp hands with the blond.

"Are you walking my way, Sir Timothy?" Hank gestured up the road, his bow loose in his grip. He couldn't recall either Sir John or this lad, or a Beholder if the truth was told, but he certainly wouldn't mind the chance to get the story out of this boy. "If there's a good tavern up ahead, I can buy you a drink while you tell me about our last meeting and your noble father."

The lad eagerly fell into step beside the man and happily started relaying news of the coming town and his father's present quest. It was some distance but the pair made the journey amiably. Sir Timothy did the majority of the talking, which suited Hank, though he hadn't yet gone back far enough in his ramblings to mention anything about a Beholder. The Ranger was patient and let Sir Timothy wander in his storytelling until they were seated in a corner of the tavern.

Finally, Hank held up a hand and laughed. "I wasn't joking when I said my memory is faulty, Sir Timothy."

"Oh, call me Timothy, Hank. No need to stand on ceremony with you. Thanks." The last was said to the innkeeper as the man delivered their food and drinks.

With a nod, Hank acknowledged the man then turned back to the boy. "Timothy, then. I'd like you to tell me about the Beholder, if you could? I'm searching for my past, in a manner of speaking."

The lad enthusiastically launched into a tale of his brave father and seven travelers. As the boy seemed to be a natural born storyteller, it was some way into the story before Hank realized that the travelers must have been his companions and himself. His eyes widened and he listened a bit more carefully, trying to pick up on any names or directions the lad might let slip.

A voice in the shadows nearby, however, had Hank drawing his attention away from the tale. It was familiar, and menacing, sending a shiver up the man's spine. Instinctively, he gripped his bow harder under the table.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this? How I've plotted and planned? I will not let anyone-and I do mean _anyone_-ruin my plans. I will have my vengeance, make no mistake."

Hank let the boy babble on as he tried to figure out where he'd heard that voice before. A memory from four years previously tugged at his mind, and he wondered if it could possibly be the blue-clad armored figure that he'd seen in the woods. It made sense; that voice was just as evil, just as-chilling. This time, perhaps due to the confines of the building, it seemed to reverberate.

Hearing the owner of the voice still going on, plotting out something for his companion to do, the Ranger stored away every nuance of the conversation behind him. He didn't know any of the names mentioned, but the places listed were quite familiar by now. He'd been to more than fifty of the locations this man planned to destroy. When he made mention of a burnt town cursed to suck in the souls of travelers, Hank knew instantly that it was a reference to that very first place he recalled.

_This man created that place of horror? How many has he absorbed into the madness there? Has he done that to other towns: creating pockets of vile wraiths waiting to destroy anyone who wanders by?_ With a shudder, Hank hoped that none of the people he'd met were among the fallen-he'd make damn sure they wouldn't be destroyed in the future.

He had to stop this man from continuing on his destructive plans.

Slowly, the blond placed some coins on the table and stood, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Acting as nonchalant as he could, Hank threw a smile in Timothy's direction and gestured for the lad to accompany him out back to the privy. The boy jumped up and went with him, chatting all the while, unaware of the danger that lurked within the shadows nearby. Hank let the boy talk, hoping to avoid the notice of the evil man in the tavern.

Once outside, Hank covered Timothy's mouth and gave him a warning frown. The young Knight nodded his understanding so Hank let him go. They both walked quietly around the tavern and headed quickly for the road, not a word uttered as they made good time. They traveled a long distance before the lad finally broke the silence.

"What is wrong, Hank?" He turned worried grey-green eyes on the man.

Hank continued the quick pace but answered his new friend. "I overhead some plans to destroy the Realm. We've got to find those friends of mine who helped take down the Beholder. In fact," he turned his head briefly to glance at his companion, "we should gather help from as many people as we can. By the sound of it, that man has already had his people creating havoc everywhere." The Ranger sighed and ran a hand through his longish blond hair. "I only hope we're not too late-and that my friends can help."

Timothy nodded, the horror in his eyes at war with the determination in his fisted hands. "You can count on me, Hank. You have at least one Knight on your side ready to fight that evil pervading the world. Let's see if we can find the other five _Children of Power_."

With a grim smile Hank headed down a fork in the road. "Yes, but first I've a few allies to gather together. Come on, Timothy. We've a war to prepare for."

The pair quickly disappeared over the horizon.

Continued in Chapter Seventeen: You Shouldn't Talk to Strangers


	17. You Shouldn't Talk to Strangers

Title: You Shouldn't Talk to Strangers

Series: The Never-ending Story 17 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Eerie Paranormal Encounter

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Eric- 24, Uni- 19 (Elfish) but 9 (unicorn)

Summary: Eric & Uni get a taste of what the future holds-(And it's about time, since they still haven't a clue what their mission is!) :-)

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

The rolling hills stretched before them, blocked on the near horizon by a broken cliff of white stone. Green grass and purple heather were interspersed by dilapidated fieldstone walls seemingly placed at random along the uninhabited countryside. There weren't even any large animals in view. It was a lonesome, beautiful land.

"This place reminds me of Northern England. We went there when I was eight. I never understood why anyone would build walls across the fields when there wasn't anyone to keep out." Eric had been babbling about his youth for quite some time. The Cavalier showed no real signs of slowing down.

Since Uni didn't know any of the places he was talking about, or the people he mentioned as servants, she just let the words wash over her. It sounded like he'd done quite a bit in his short life. Only a few years ago she'd have been rolling her eyes in annoyance; now, she was fascinated, even if everything he talked about was strange and mysterious to her. "Really, Airk?" Her English was still slow, after all these years, but it wasn't broken anymore. The only time she sounded like her former unicorn self was when she was overly excited or frightened or if she agreed to something. She also seemed to have trouble correctly pronouncing her companion's name but neither seemed bothered by that after all this time.

As Eric continued to babble about himself, Uni noticed a traveler approaching them. She reached out a slender white hand to touch her companion's arm, drawing his attention from himself. The pretty redhead gestured towards the man. Eric frowned, unconsciously moving to walk between his friend and the stranger; he could sense the uneasiness in the girl.

Something about the unknown man sent a chill through the raven-haired man as well. He continued to frown at the traveler, especially when the man started to whistle a tuneless sound. When the other man came abreast of the couple, Eric felt a cramping low in his stomach. He unconsciously put one hand over his abdomen and the other on Uni's arm.

Suddenly, the cramping got worse. With a gasp, Eric nearly doubled over. The whistling stopped and a very calm, very soothing voice sounded over the twenty-four year old. He winced and tilted his head up.

"I can help, Cavalier."

Dread inexplicably swept over the young warrior. He gripped Uni's arm harder and she let out a sound like a wounded horse. Loosening his fingers slightly, Eric couldn't draw his eyes from the smiling stranger. There was something about the traveler-something that screamed at Eric's baser instincts of self-preservation.

Oddly enough, there _seemed_ to be nothing particularly threatening about the man. He was of average height dressed in the normal, well-worn clothes of an everyday traveler in the Realm. No weapon was apparent; he didn't act dangerous or menacing. Just something about the stranger seemed-off-somehow-and Eric had long ago learned to trust Uni's innate judgment of character; she'd never been wrong yet.

Again that soothing voice enveloped them. "I can help." The man smiled an attractive look that held comfort and friendliness. "Just say the words and I will help you."

"Go-away-" The dark-haired young man stumbled away from the stranger with the pleasantly lulling attitude. He pulled Uni with him, trying to get control over the stomach pains. Nausea welled up and Eric hit his knees, dragging the former unicorn to the ground. It was at that moment that the habitual dizziness overcame him. He nearly passed out.

She let out a startled yelp, arms immediately encircling her friend. Looking up, the nineteen year old frowned softly, instinctively leaning away from the traveler. "I-I think we'll be-all right."

The stranger squatted, his smile gentling. "Such spirit. I can help. You are vulnerable; he is weak. Let me help you."

"I'm not-" the word was not one she'd had reason to use before, but she gave a fair attempt, her voice hardening in her dislike, "vul-ner-bull-We're fine. Airk?" The redhead turned back to her companion, feeling his cold, sweaty skin. He was extremely pale, paler than even she was. Maybe she _should_ ask for this guy's help even though he gave her the creeps.

Eric couldn't answer her. He was too busy trying to fight the nausea welling up, the intense swaying of everything around him. He wanted to close his eyes, put his head down, and simply fall unconscious. It would feel so much better. But something eerie about the stranger kept him from giving in. He had to stay alert, had to protect Uni-even if it meant just throwing up all over the guy to chase him away. Right about then, that sounded like a totally reasonable idea-one that actually started to become more appealing the more the guy offered his help.

"Airk?"

A movement caught the Cavalier's eye and he gulped down the sickness to tilt his head, groaning at the uncomfortable gesture.

The stranger had stepped closer and put out a hand, though he still didn't touch either of the Young Ones. Eric curled his lip in the best imitation of his father at an unpleasant board meeting. "Leave-us-alone-" The young man's voice was a deep, threatening growl. He didn't want the guy anywhere near Uni. Apparently surprised, the man frowned for the first time. He recovered his smile and in a cajoling tone he said, "Come now. Pride is well and good, Cavalier, but swallow it this once and let me help you. Just say the words and all will be as it should."

Sudden and intense anger surged over the twenty-four year old. He pushed from the ground, gritting his teeth as the world swam before his eyes. He felt as if his entire body was swaying as well-and had to fight back a sudden heaving. Raising his head, his knuckles white where he painfully gripped Uni's shoulder, Eric stared the man straight in the eyes. "I said go away!" He pushed from the nineteen year old, sending her stumbling backwards as he lunged towards the traveler.

The man hissed, smile and convivial attitude falling away as quickly as Eric's temper had boiled over. He backed up, out of reach, and hissed again. Then a change overcame the stranger. His clothes looked older, more threadbare; his hair grew matted and long; his face grew sallow. In fact, all in all, the man seemed to wither, growing more haggard-more-decayed. When he opened his mouth in a third hiss, he revealed sharp, stained teeth and a foul odor.

Uni gagged, turning away and burying her face in the crook of her elbow. She shivered uncontrollably and felt a sudden dread seize her. The-stranger-reminded her of the beings in the Tower of the Celestial knights. That same helpless fear overcame her and all the young woman could do was rely on her companion to protect her.

Eric's shield went up as he jumped between Uni and the traveler. The Cavalier stumbled as he moved but forced himself to stay on his feet. He pushed towards the stranger, not caring at the moment just what kind of undead creature it was-just as long as it went away. Eric was so familiar with his friend that he could sense the subtle change in her emotions; this thing has suddenly terrified the intrepid former unicorn.

"Go away!" '_Oh, that was brilliant, Montgomery. What's your encore?_' It had been a stupid remark but the best Eric could think of in the heat of the moment. "Uni, stay behind me." He pushed again, the shield's magical force flaring up and slamming against the stranger. An unusual whine filled the air accompanied by an increasingly foul stench. Eric nearly retched a third time. '_Great. This is becoming a habit. Maybe letting go will get rid of the creep?_' His sarcastic thought helped the Cavalier to gain control, if only just.

The creature howled in anger and clawed at Eric's shield. The magic force continued to flare, oddly whining every time the foul being touched it. Colored energy swirled in the air between the two enemies, marking the invisible force that protected those whom the Cavalier tried to defend. Eric gave another mighty heave, stumbling once again as his head swam and his stomach lurched. Without warning a bright flash of intense yellow-gold light erupted from the shield.

Eric squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head instinctively from the brilliance. Uni screamed and threw herself onto the ground, arms protectively covering her head. An unearthly wailing filled the countryside as a foul wind crashed over them, trying to force the trio into the ground. It was only with years of practice that Eric was able to utilize the full strength of his body, wielding the shield without being overcome by this rare display of increased power.

An unholy wail shuddered through the Young Ones-then all was still.

Wanting to curl up and try to regain his greatly flagging strength, Eric knew he couldn't let his pain and fatigue get the better of him. He had to protect Uni. Once they'd won he could let her baby him back to full health-or what passed for it those days. Gritting his teeth, steeling for another assault, the Cavalier looked up, a snarl of defiance on his tired face.

"What-?" Eric slowly looked around almost unable to believe his eyes. It took a couple of blinks and another scan of their surroundings to verify what he'd first thought he saw.

Lush fields and stone walls were gone. In their place was a barren, rocky wasteland. Not even a blade of grass or an insect was visible. How could such a drastic change have occurred in so short a time? Had the explosion truly been that vast? And had his shield managed to protect Uni and himself from such a destructive force?-And where had his shield gotten the kind of energy cause that final, all-encompassing surge of power?

Fear washed over him as he recalled that Uni had been behind him. Whirling, nearly falling face first into the dirt due to dizziness, Eric looked for his companion, hoping that she, too, had come through relatively unharmed. When he saw her, her paleness scared him and he pushed back his vertigo to crawl over to the former unicorn. "Uni?" his voice was hoarse with worry.

As he reached for her, a muffled "Is it over, Airk?" came from the ground and he did a double take.

"Uh-" Eric looked around, covering his mouth with one lean, tanned hand. "Uh-yeah. That thing's gone now." After a brief pause, he couldn't help adding, "so's England." The sigh he let out bespoke just how much he longed to be home, even if he'd stopped complaining so much in the last couple of years.

Uni slowly uncurled and sat up, looking around at the wasteland with a worried frown, "Are we lost?" Glancing up at Eric, her frown deepened. "What's wrong, Airk?" Maroon eyes widened with a sudden worry, "Oh! Are you hurt?" She reached for the twenty-four year old.

"Me?" Eric was stunned, starting to run his hands carefully over his companion to check for injuries. "You're pale as a-uh-sheet." He had changed his wording in light of their recent otherworldly encounter.

Shaking her head, Uni pulled away, a flush suffusing her delicate Elfish features. "I'm always pale, Airk-it's my-natural-skin tone." She batted at his hands as he reached for her again. "Stop it, your hands-tickle."

Eric stopped. Frowning, the man stood and started checking himself over. He could still feel the leftover tingle from the energy surge. Idly he wondered if that was what Uni meant then pushed the inane thought aside. The Cavalier reached down a hand to pull the former Unicorn to her feet, ignoring her odd glance and the fact that she shook out her hand after he let go again. He gestured to the cliff ahead. "Well, if you're fine then let's get going. I sure don't want to be out here when night falls." With a calculated look, and a brief smile, he teased, "I'm not a horse to sleep in a field, you know."

His joke was answered with a snort and a light slap on the arm.

xxx

"Airk?"

"Yeah, Kid?"

Uni's laughter rang out, a rather braying kind of noise at odds with her delicate appearance. After all those years Eric had finally gotten used to it and the happy sound made him smile. So, Uni had also been remembering their first days alone together. It made him feel good to be so-close with his friend.

"Why did he call you-Cavalier?"

Eric frowned softly in confusion. Where did that question fit into the good old days? "Who? Dungeon Master?"

She shook her head, long red hair swaying, reminiscent of when she was had a long mane instead of human hair. "No, that-" a shudder wracked her body at the recent unpleasant memory, "stranger."

The raven-haired man's frown deepened. She certainly hadn't been lost in _remember when_ if she was still on about that bozo freak. "Uh-cause I _am_ a Cavalier?" Trying to lighten the atmosphere again, Eric shot her a mischievous look. "I thought you were past the stupid question stage, Uni."

Shooting him a dirty look, Uni shook her head again. "No-you're the stupid one-Airk." He gave her a fierce look as she continued. "I mean-there's so many different-kinds of-fighters. Many of them even wear-the same kind of armor-and carry shields. So, how'd he know just what-type-of fighter _you_ are?"

Unanswered, the question hung in the air between them for several long minutes, stretching Uni's limited patience. Suddenly Eric broke the stillness with a low chuckle. "Don't we make a pretty pair: both paranoid and delusional."

"I'm not the-paranoid-delusional-one, Airk," but Uni smiled in response, appreciating the way he used his sarcastic humor to try to alleviate the building tension.

Eric slowly spoke again and the tension came streaming back, "Uni-think that guy is part of the army of evil Dungeon Master mentioned a few years ago?"

Silently, the former unicorn thought it over, maroon eyes filled with worried confusion. "Maybe-" a shudder wracked her slim body as she recalled the change the stranger had gone through, the claws and the stench. "Definitely-He really wanted you to-ask for help."

"Yeah, he did." The twenty-four year old looked towards the horizon, pondering what fate they were heading for, seeing the distant cliff-side looming ever closer.

Silence fell between the companions only to be broken a moment later by Uni's soft voice.

"Airk? I don't-trust-that guy." She glanced at her companion then back at the road ahead. With her excellent eyesight the nineteen year old could see a door in the cliff ahead. They'd probably go in there for the night. "He'll be back."

The man nodded slowly, his frown returned full force. "Yeah-" Silence settled a few minutes before Eric softly said, "Uni? I don't like him either."

With that the pair walked on in an uneasy quiet, the distant future coming inexorably closer with each step-each minute-that went by.

Continued in Chapter nineteen: Prophet of Doom, Bringer of Hope


	18. Prophet of Doom, Bringer of Hope

Title: Prophet of Doom, Bringer of Hope

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 18 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Some Violence, Mild Blood

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 17 going on 18; Lorne- 21; Kosar- 25 going on 26

Summary: Bobby and his companions stumble onto the Armies of Light and have to fight part of the army of dark.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

"I want my clothes back, Bobby." Lorne was huddled next to a fire, shivering in the fur loin cloth and crossed leather harness which was normally the Barbarian's attire. He obviously wasn't used to such miniscule clothing in the cool autumn weather.

Bobby shook his head. "I can't, Lorne, not until we leave this place, and we only just got here." He glanced carefully over his shoulder then looked back at his two companions. "If they think I'm not a real Gypsy Prophet, we're screwed."

The blond teen clamped his mouth shut quickly as an elderly woman shuffled over with a few younger helpers. All were carrying containers of fresh food for the three wanderers. They didn't seem to think anything of the silence they met as they served the food, but none of the villagers lingered either.

As the last villager hurried out of earshot, Bobby turned his attention back to Lorne and Kosar. "Look, we'll leave in the middle of the night, okay? That's plenty mysterious. I prefer not to hang around here anyway. It's too close to the Tower of the Celestial Knights and I have bad memories of that place." His words were emphasized by a dramatic, and all too real, shudder.

Lorne grumpily reached for his food, accepting the necessity for Bobby to stay in his role of Prophet, and his clothes, but not liking it. "Well, teach me those words and next time I'll be the Gypsy. After all, I really am one, so I'll be able to do it much better than you. You look too-well fed-for a Gypsy.

A snicker broke from Kosar, but he had to agree. Bobby was stocky and well-muscled. He didn't look like someone half-starved and thrown out of village after village. The Barbarian looked more like someone people would welcome, even in the Gypsy clothing he'd borrowed. Put normal village clothes on Bobby and he'd blend right in. It was even hard to recall that he was normally a Barbarian while he was dressed in Lorne's almost too small clothes.

Bobby shook his head, "Yeah, yeah."

Before Lorne could snap a comeback, Kosar lifted a hand for silence. His eyes were distant, yet intent, as if he were listening to some far off voice. With his Psionicist's telepathy he most likely was.

The other two waited impatiently as the eldest of their group continued to listen, hand still raised, forgotten. Bobby was getting impatient with the waiting, and it was obvious that Lorne was as well. Neither was the very patient sort.

Finally the man's eyes focused once more. "Bobby," his echoing voice was pitched almost too low to hear, making the seventeen year old glad he could mentally hear the twenty-five year old. "I think I've heard something extremely important. Over there. Near the Chief."

All three glanced surreptitiously over at the small knot of village elders.

With a nod Bobby rose and, almost nonchalantly, strode in that general direction, hoping to catch at least some of what was being discussed. He went unnoticed by the arguing group. The chief was frowning as the other men spoke in harsh whispers. Finally Bobby was close enough to overhear their words.

". . .prophecy."

Murmurs and nods accompanied the man's words. The chief rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But that was some time ago. A prophecy is for the future."

A grizzled man, bent with age and hard labor, slammed the end of his walking stick on the hard stones beneath his feet. "No! A prophecy can include the past. The boy spoke of destruction. He spoke of rebuilding. His prophecy has already happened. This prophet speaks our past not our future!"

_Uh oh!_ Bobby frowned, wondering if they should get out of there sooner than midnight. He wondered if Kosar was keeping mental track of his thoughts. If so, Bobby could let the others know what was going on without moving from his vantage point. He took a breath, let it out slowly, then thought "_Kosar?_"

"_Yes, Bobby. Softer, please. I hear you well._" Kosar's mental voice was strained.

Bobby tried to soften his mental voice despite not having any idea how he could do that. "_This better?_" He needed to get the news to his friends.

Kosar noticeably winced near the fire. "_No! Calm down, Bobby. You're screaming._" Lifting a hand to massage his temple, Kosar turned his eyes to settle on Bobby. "_Calm down. You voice reflects your emotions. They hurt. It's hard enough for me not to talk to everyone. I need to concentrate so only you hear me. Shouting makes it harder._"

Calm down? "_Oh._" Bobby took another deep breath and counted to three, still listening to the elders discussing his prophecy. He stopped trying to communicate with Kosar at what he overheard next.

"He looked like this boy."

Nodding slowly, the chief acquiesced to that point. "Yes, perhaps the blond man was related?"

"But then this boy would know the Armies of Light," said a dark-bearded man, not troubling to soften his harsh voice.

"_A blond man?_" Bobby repeated in his mind, wondering, "_Can he mean Hank?_"

Approval laced Kosar's mind-voice. "_Much better, Bobby. Keep thinking that softly. The men speak of Hank?_"

Surprised, Bobby just nodded. He hadn't meant to talk to Kosar, but he didn't mind if the older man was listening-at least at the moment.

"Yes, if he knows the Armies he would know his brother already passed through to rebuild here three lunar cycles past." The Chief's voice was slow, thoughtful, taking for granted that this Gypsy was related to their former visitor.

A young man, on the council for his brave deeds and uncommon intellect rather than his years, of which he lacked, said, "The Ranger and his armored friend spoke of something darker coming."

"_Armored friend? Eric?_" Bobby's heart skipped, but he breathed slowly, trying to keep himself calm so as to hear and be mentally heard. Funny how Lorne was the Gypsy but Kosar had the mental abilities which would make a good Prophet. At least they were a team.

The chief turned to the youngest council member. "Go on."

Expression neutral, the man said, "If they are part of an army for goodness there is an army of evilness to balance them. As the Ranger spoke of more evil to come, he must be referring to the armies. This Gypsy has foreseen that we will not be untouched in the war to come. Our children will have to rebuild our lives if the Army of Light fails."

A hush descended over the council as they absorbed the man's words. Worry crossed their faces; determination quickly followed.

"_They're saying Hank and Eric are forming an army to fight the evil. They think my prophecy talks about the big war coming,_" Bobby reported.

Kosar's voice was thoughtful as he said, "_Dungeon Master did mention a great war. Your words may have been more help to Dungeon Master than you first thought._"

Bobby frowned. "_I only thought of it 'cause it's my class song this year._"

"_Class song?_" Kosar sounded confused. "_Later,_" he said, "_what else do they say?_" He found it easier to concentrate on Bobby alone rather than sort out the threads of thought from the entire unfamiliar council.

Looking over the small group nearby, Bobby listened attentively, hands fisted unconsciously by his sides.

"The prophecy is of the future then," the chief decided. "We must prepare to join the Army of Light when it sends for us. Collect weapons and supplies. Arrange the weak and children in safety. They can hide in the cold storage caverns below the town."

"_They,_" Bobby could hardly believe what was happening, "_they're going to get ready for war._"

The Barbarian didn't hear Kosar's reply. He was too busy trying to look innocent of eavesdropping as the council turned to follow the chief's orders. The group of men spotted the teen standing nearby and frowned as one.

Bobby's eyes had been glazed as his thoughts had been turned inwards and towards Kosar. Now those blue orbs cleared and he turned towards the elders with a soft shudder. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears after the mental tones he'd used with his friend. "I seek my brother, a Ranger who may have passed by here some lunar cycles ago: three maybe four." He let his eyes rove the group, trying to determine if he was pushing things, but he really wanted to find Hank and Eric.

Distrust crossed one or two faces of the group. Bobby had been close enough to overhear them after all. Before anyone could voice their concern, Bobby added, "His name would be Hank." There, that was information he couldn't have overheard them use.

The elders murmured. Holding up his hand, silencing his council, the chief turned fully to Bobby. "Yes, three lunar cycles ago a Ranger named Hank came through our village. He helped us rebuild and spoke of evil coming. He is your brethren?"

Bobby nodded, once, firmly. "Yes. He's supposed to gather allies to fight the evil I predicted. Our caravan has spread over the countryside to spread the word." Bobby wouldn't hazard a glance at the others. He was afraid he was overplaying his hand. He refused to wince, however, when the bearded man growled out.

"Gypsies help everyone? That's a crocker!"

Straightening his shoulders, Bobby turned a look of hauteur on the man. In his best imitation of Eric at his most arrogant, the seventeen year old said, "A house divided against itself cannot stand. What affects one, affects all." He bowed to the chief then the elders. Bobby whirled around and strode towards his friends, shoulders back, spine stiff. He pulled Lorne up from the ground and gestured towards Kosar.

The three left the village without a word, ignoring the sudden clamoring behind them. They didn't go far. As villagers hurried behind them, trying to apologize for any slight to the Prophet and his protectors, Bobby's small group stopped.

They hadn't stopped to listen to the pleas.

There, stretched out on the road and barren fields, was a unit of Orcs and armed men.

Bobby turned, Lorne and Kosar a step behind, and ran full pelt into the village. "Get weapons!" His screams reverberated of the stone buildings, drowning the confusion of the villages he pushed ahead of him. "They're coming! Get the kids inside!" Bobby grabbed the bearded council member. "Enemies on the road! Get weapons!" Damn! He wished he had his club!

Kosar mentally called "_Children, to the caverns below. Hurry! Bring your old and sick!_" He stopped to pull an elderly man from his stone bench, pipe still clenched in the man's teeth. He began running with the non-fighters towards the council building.

Lorne wrapped both hands around Bobby's club, separated from the Barbarian in the crowd. He had never used such a weapon, but he knew he'd have to. He held a Weapon of Power; he had a responsibility to use it to protect these people.

Suddenly alone, facing the road, feet spread and hands gripping the wooden club, Lorne faced the approaching group. It was perhaps two dozen strong and evil reeked on the wind blowing towards the lone town defender. Waiting, hoping he was timing things properly, Lorne rotated his shoulders and neck, trying to keep his muscles loose. As the troop came within a hundred yards of him, Lorne strengthened his grip.

Bobby turned, joined by the hastily armed villagers, and was shocked to see the fur and leather clad man alone in front of the advancing enemy. A sudden flash of insight broke through his mind, and Bobby was horrified at what he knew would happen. "Lorne! No!"

Ignoring all sounds, all smells, anything but the advancing platoon, Lorne seemed to gather himself. The enemy was a hundred feet away. It was time!

Lorne took a deep breath and let it out in a horrible scream. He swung the club backwards over his head and brought it down towards the ground, putting the strength of years of pushing loaded wagons behind the swing. The club smashed the ground as Lorne's yell reached its apex. Bright light flashed and an explosive force threw Lorne backwards through the side of the nearest stone cottage.

A low rumble from deep in the earth answered the Gypsy's primal scream.

The advancing platoon hesitated, stunned by the scream and flash, confused by the rumble. The ground seemed to tremble then began to roll as a huge wave of force vibrated through the earth, advancing on the Orcs and soldiers. Screams echoed from terrified throats as the earthquake rocked the very foundations of the roadway. Enemies scattered. If missed by the convulsing ground, they ran of their own free will. A great rent opened, a chasm swallowing half a dozen enemies before crashing closed once more. Only seconds had passed but the enemy was vanquished.

Bobby knew the suvivors would be reporting to their master then they'd return in greater force.

"_Kosar?_" Bobby tried to keep his mental voice soft, tried to keep worry from it as he moved through the stunned villagers towards the wrecked cottage.

"_Yes, Bobby?_"

"_They're gone. I need help. Lorne's gotta be hurt._" Bobby ignored the chief's stunned questions, the babble of the council, the yells of the relieved fighters; he picked his way through cracked, tumbled stone. Out loud he called, "Lorne?"

By the time he found his unconscious friend, Kosar was at Bobby's side. One booted foot stuck out from the rubble. Hurriedly Bobby started sweeping the debris aside, but Kosar stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

"_The rock will shift. He could get hurt worse, Bobby._"

Bobby nodded but didn't get a chance to continue his excavation. Rather, several villagers pushed the two young men away while others carefully began to unbury their third visitor. It wasn't long before Lorne's leg, from the knee down, was exposed. The rest of him was buried by a huge wall slab.

The chief called, "Combine your effort, men! On my count!" The elders joined the fighters in sliding their hands beneath the great slab.

Bobby slipped in between the chief and the younger council member. He bent his knees, prepared to lift. Another man slipped in next to him and Bobby turned his head briefly. He flashed a thankful grin at the bearded councilman then turned back to the slab. He could see Kosar lying on the ground, hands wrapped around Lorne's exposed leg.

"I will pull him out," Kosar said above the murmurs, his half-mental-half-spoken voice startling the towns people. No one had heard Kosar speak before that except Bobby and Lorne. It was yet another thing they would have to deal with after the rescue.

"One!" The chief's voice silenced the group. "Two!" Every man squatted, ready to lift their share of the heavy weight. "Three!" A mighty heave, a few inches, the crowd sweated and the rock shifted. "Three!" the chief repeated, everyone heaving again.

Putting his full weight, as well as all of his well-developed muscles, behind the lift, Bobby broke into a sweat. He was straining. The rock slab was the heaviest thing he'd ever lifted. Pain screamed across his muscles, his arms shaking, his legs beginning to tremble. No! He would not let Lorne down! He screamed "Three!"

The group once more heaved. The slab raised a few more inches.

Kosar gripped Lorne's leg tightly and yanked as hard as he could, praying he wouldn't dismember his friend. The younger man might be annoying as hell, but he was still a friend. With a second yank, Kosar felt Lorne's body shift. "I almost have him! Once more!" Kosar's voice was full of hope as he shouted in mind and ear, "Three!"

The group groaned, heaved, and swore. The slab lifted some more. Kosar tugged Lorne, and he slid free.

Falling over with the sudden release of Lorne's body, Kosar felt the wind rush out of him. Lorne, unconscious and bloody, landed on Kosar, pinning him. He heard the chief yell, "Release!" and the ground shook as the slab fell to the ground with a mighty crack. Other buildings shifted slightly and townspeople cried in shock. Kosar caught his breath and let his head fall back to the ground, chuckling breathlessly.

Bobby turned and rushed to his fallen comrades. "Water! Bandages! Help!" He skidded to a soft thump, landing on his knees next to Lorne and Kosar. "Is he alive?"

Kosar shut his eyes then opened them again. Blue-grey eyes met light blue as Kosar smiled at Bobby. "Yes and he's heavier than he looks."

A laugh escaped the dirty, tired Barbarian. He sat back on his feet and laughed again. Turning his head, Bobby sought out the chief. "May we stay until he can travel? Then we'll find my brother and the Army of Light. Those guys aren't the last of the bad guys."

The chief nodded. "We see that your words are not false. We will help you when you call. For now, you and your friends will rest and heal."

"No time to heal," Lorne's weak voice sounded even more muffled by Kosar's shirt. "Just a couple days."

Kosar and Bobby wanted to argue but neither could. Lorne was right. That army wouldn't give them the luxury of healing. Bobby looked at the chief. "A couple of days then we leave. Which direction did Hank take?"

The Chief nodded towards the Celestial Tower and Bobby groaned.

Lorne chuckled, ending on a groan. "Hey, Bobby, next time you be the Barbarian. That club sure does pack a wallop!" He painfully lifted his head, blood flowing freely down his face and over his hair from a series of cuts on his scalp.

"_Don't move, Lorne._" Kosar gently slipped Lorne to the ground. He then started tending his friend as men brought over water and supplies.

Bobby frowned softly, watching intently. "I don't remember it ever acting like that." He stroked a shaking hand over his face, streaking it with dirt. A glimmer of memory passed with his fingers and he opened his eyes wide. "Wait! The Dragons' Graveyard! When we went to the Dragons' Graveyard the weapons super charged. Hank was able to bind Venger with his arrows, his bow got so strong." Bobby met the surprised looks of Kosar and Lorne. "But why would the club surge here? We're nowhere near the Graveyard!"

Continued in Chapter Nineteen: Theft and Sacrifice


	19. Theft and Sacrifice

Title: Theft and Sacrifice

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 19 / 33

Rating: PG-13: actually nothing major in this one, but why switch back now?

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Sheila- 23; Varla- 23; Amber- adult; Jaref- adult; Marinda- adult

Summary: Sheila and Varla had a mission to accomplish.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Stone walls towered fifty feet over cracked earth, dwarfing great boulders strewn haphazardly across the wasted plains by long forgotten waters. An irregular fissure marred the stonework, warping one great door into a permanently gaping position. Skeletal trees jutted like boney fingers from the dry heat of the barren land. Overhead a lone carrion bird rose on a thermal current. A sun-baked reptilian lazed in the dry gulley by a twenty foot boulder some yards from the aged gate.

The whisper of shifting gravel and water-starved earth accompanied the soft depression of ground in a rough oval shape. Another shift, another depression. At the fourth step, Sheila lowered her hood and signaled silently to the three people and one Faerie Dragon waiting, hidden behind the boulder. Under her lavender cloak, Sheila was dressed in a rough homespun brown shift and her sturdy Elvish boots; a long-bladed dagger was strapped to her hip. Her flame-colored hair had grown past her waist in the last few years, and she kept it wound about her head in two thick braids tied with leather thongs. Varla, beside her, was dressed identically, her equally bright hair also securely tied up into two thick braids. Jaref and Marinda wore dark brown clothing and sturdy work boots, armed with daggers like the two younger women; unlike the younger pair, rough hoods covered the elder couple's all-too-noticeable grey hair. Amber, the shoulder-sized dragon, had an odd leather harness fastened over her marigold scales.

For some time the four humans signed back and forth, grim looks growing darker, until Jaref dropped his hands by his sides, his frown fierce. Marinda covered her mouth but made no sound. Sheila and Varla exchanged worried looks; Sheila reached for her hood. Amber flitted to Varla's shoulder, arresting Sheila's movements. The Faerie Dragon wrapped her fore-claws into one of Varla's braids to steady herself, a worried frown on her tiny dragon face.

Leaning close to Varla's ear, speaking in a low tone, Amber said, "I haven't learned your signals yet. What happened?"

Varla's voice was equally soft, though she looked directly at her foster sister so Sheila might understand her words. "Sheila says the place is heavily guarded. The two at the gate can be passed, but inside are dozens more. We'll have to go alone." Varla turned her head, dislodging Amber's claws but not the Faerie Dragon herself. "Just the two of us. We need you to remain here with my parents. Wait for us."

Grey eyes stared into gold until Amber let out a small sigh and hung her head low. "Yes. I'll stay here." The little dragonet flew carefully to Marinda's shoulder, alighting softly. She remained silent as Varla turned back to Sheila.

Both young women exchanged a grim nod. Sheila lifted her hood over her red braids, disappearing as if she had never been. Seconds later, Varla blurred and faded until she was equally invisible. Her illusion hid their footprints as the women moved from behind the protective boulder onto the heat-soaked waste of the Cracked Lands. Only the whisper of a stale breeze shifting the heat ineffectually around the waiting three marked the passage of time as the women carried out their mission.

At the weather-beaten gate, two Orc guards grumbled and grunted. They shuffled from one side of the dilapidated gate to the other, crossing in the middle, their movements sluggish and uninterested. With a moment's timing, both hidden women slipped past the lackadaisical guards and into the inner courtyard. Neither woman relaxed. That had been the easy part.

Inside the air was even hotter, no breeze alleviating the pressing heat. Orcs sat around sweating, snoring, and belching as they gambled lazily or drank ale and ate rotting meat. Every door of the inner keep stood open in a vain attempt to catch a wandering breath of wind. The lolling Orcs blocked some openings with their careless lounging while other doorways were left unprotected.

One incautious misstep could bring the entire Orc battalion down on them. Step by slow step, the two humans made their way across the courtyard towards a small side door. If their information was correct what they sought wouldn't be found in any of the larger, heavily used chambers. It would be hidden in a strong box in the King's private office.

Time seemed as lost as the breeze, frozen in this over-dried land. Had it been ten minutes or thirty?

One Orc nearly exposed the women as he rolled in his sleep, letting out a loud aromatic fart. A second Orc growled and poked his comrade with the wooden shaft of a pike.

Sheila held her breath, her left foot almost touching the sleeping Orc. Her eyes watered at the foul stench emanating from the disgruntled soldier. Breathing as shallowly as possible, Sheila eased backwards and made a wider arc around the pair as the one soldier poked his partner again.

A roar erupted from the first Orc and he woke in a rage. Grabbing up his own pike, he began poking at his abuser. A general listless cheer went up, but no one exerted themselves to join the combatants. However, their attention was firmly fixed on the rare spectacle of a fight in that enervating heat.

Sheila and Varla used the sudden distraction to cover their progress. They moved faster, slipping one after the other through the small door. Varla resisted the urge to shut the door, though it was tempting to put that bit of old wood between them and their enemy. Still invisible, the pair began to move down a long stone hallway, stale but cold after the heat outside.

Like the courtyard every door in the keep was opened, allowing the stone-chilled air to seep throughout the old building. Unlike the courtyard the inner keep appeared barren despite the refreshing coolness. The corridors were dark but the rooms they passed were lit by light globes, a palpable sign of King Varen's wasteful nature. The women slowed, Varla alert to any sound, long practiced at avoiding knocking into one another's invisible forms.

Sheila could feel Varla behind her despite the illusion; her foster-sister's body heat was palpable in the chilly stonework corridor. Knowing her own cloak kept her heat contained within its magic, Sheila was glad that the infrared-sighted Orcs had remained outside of this human stronghold. Any humans who came upon them wouldn't register the stray heat patterns.

At the third doorway, Sheila peered inside. The musty smell of rotting leather and moldering paper permeated the air. It was better than Orc farts.

The room was lit by a single globe of energy kept in an open lantern bracket. The heavy wood furniture was old, scarred and roughly handled. A threadbare rug of undistinguishable colors covered part of the stone flagged floor, ancient stains peeking out from beneath the rough woolen fibers. A cumbersome desk stood at the center of the back wall, a heavy chair behind it. To the left sat a shelf of leather-bound books, the covers cracked and flaking. To the right was a life-sized portrait of the present ruler of the Cracked Lands, the only object in the room which gleamed with care. King Varen looked no better in his portrait than he had when Sheila had been imprisoned in his dungeon all those years ago, when she had still been with the other Children of Power and Bobby had still been in the Realm. She pushed away the memories, intent on finishing the task at hand.

Slipping silently into the room, Sheila made her way to the portrait, grimacing at the likeness of the greedy human who'd once tried to rob the Faerie Dragons. A small smile played about the woman's lips. The man had fallen far without dragon gold to pay his debts. He'd lost his luscious kingdom and been relegated to this rundown tiny keep in this barren wasteland only able to afford Orc guards; they were cheaper than humans. "_Serves him right,_" she thought to herself. Wasting no more time on the despotic man, Sheila carefully slid her fingers along the edge of the heavy oil painting.

Once Sheila had been disgusted at the idea of being the Thief Dungeon Master had labeled her. It had taken long practice and many years to truly embrace that part of her. The attitude change had come when Sheila had determined to use her Thief's abilities to help her allies rather than for material gain. Now, she was as comfortable in her stealthy role as if she'd been born to it. Perhaps she had been.

Her fingers found the latch behind the gilt frame. "Ah," her reaction was a mere breath, softer than a whisper. Triumph shivered through her frame, tamped down as she worked the mechanism with gentle fingers. She could feel a series of grooves the metal hasp could fit into; the trick was finding the correct groove. This kind of lock was made to freeze if the wrong groove was used. Sheila continued her smooth, slow movements, concentration at its peak.

It was taking too long. In the darkened hall, Varla was growing anxious. She peaked into the room and couldn't see Sheila, but she could see the portrait: it wobbled slightly every few seconds. It should have been easy for the woman to open the hidden door and get to the strong box. The lock must be more complicated than they'd thought. Biting her lip, Varla looked back down the hall.

A dull light was approaching steadily, stopping at every doorway then moving on. Varla's heartbeat stuttered. Someone was checking the rooms! She slid into the room, masking her movement with her illusions. Sliding behind the door, Varla turned her attention to Sheila and the portrait. Extending her illusion, careful to keep her breathing steady and to slow her heart rate, Varla masked the small movements of the portrait. She went as far as to cover the entire wall with an illusion of itself, in case Sheila opened the portrait at the wrong time.

It had happened once before in the early days of their mission. A guard had wandered in to see a drawer opening unaided. Sheila's deafness had made her oblivious to her danger. Varla had managed to knock the man out that time, but she didn't relish a repeat performance now. The last time had taught them much. This time, Varla was on her guard.

When a scruffy man in dingy breeches and worn tunic paused at the door, Varla reminded herself to breath. She knew her illusion would mask the sound, as well, but it was hard to resist the instinct none-the-less. Glancing into the room, the man grunted and moved on. Varla listened intently. His footfalls echoed slightly as he strode to the next door and paused then moved to the next. Eventually, the sounds faded and Varla risked slipping from behind the door to glance into the hall. It was dark and still once more. She looked back towards the portrait, ending her illusion.

The portrait swung open on well-oiled hinges. Sheila glanced over her shoulder, her smile disappearing as she noticed Varla's position. Carefully, she reached up to push her hood off, ending the invisibility spell. Sheila rapidly signed, "Trouble?"

Varla nodded and signed back. "Guard. Gone. Hurry." She faded as she reformed her illusion.

Slipping her hood back over her head, disappearing once more, Sheila turned back to the once secret vault. She reached in and felt hard thick metal. With a soft exhalation of air, she lifted the surprisingly heavy box. Turning, she carried the iron box, as big as her torso, to the old desk. She laid it down and began to run careful fingers over the locking mechanism. This time Sheila remained quiet as she opened the lock, too wary of another guard coming upon them. She regretted her deafness but pushed the regret deep. It was something she had learned to deal with.

Opening the lid on the box, Sheila rifled through the papers inside. She nodded and lifted out several sheets of fine parchment. Glancing once more through the box, she laid the papers on the desk and lifted a hand to uncover her head. Rapidly she began to untie the leather thongs holding her braids in place.

Varla joined her, illusion abandoned again, as she, too, unbound her hair. Without a word, the women began rolling then tying the parchments with their hair thongs. When they had a neat fat scroll, Varla lifted her skirt while Sheila kneeled down. The Thief worked quickly to secure the scroll to the Illusionist's thigh with the remaining leather strips. Sheila stood as Varla smoothed her skirt down once more.

Without waiting for her friend, Varla created the illusion of invisibility around herself and slowly walked to the door, checking for danger.

Behind her, Sheila slid her hood over her loosely trailing hair, disappearing completely. She lifted the iron box and brought it back to the vault, easing it into the small chamber. Once it was in the hidden compartment, Sheila relocked the box, swung the portrait shut and gently tugged on it, making sure the catch had secured the portrait door. It had. Sheila turned and glided silently from the room, feeling for Varla's body heat to avoid bumping into the other woman.

Once she was sure she had passed her friend, Sheila began the short yet slow journey back down the hallway towards the courtyard. The mission was almost complete. Somehow the adventure had been too easy, but both women had learned that some days were easier than others. They merely accepted the fact and continued to move, praying their luck held for these last crucial moments.

The air lit up with a bright lilac glow, pain searing through Sheila's entire body. She screamed, dropping to the ground and writhing as her hood fell from her head, the invisibility spell ending. Her body burned wherever her cloak touched and she desperately pulled at the cloth, slipping out of it as she whimpered and groaned. As the cloak fell harmlessly to the flagstones, Sheila slipped into blessed oblivion, unaware of the danger her screams had brought on the pair of women.

Varla could hear heavy flesh and metal scraping, creaking, and shifting in the courtyard outside. Sheila lay unconscious and helpless at her feet and a battalion of rampaging Orcs lay between the women and safety. Varla had only a split second to react: to help Sheila, to help the world. Her actions could mean the difference between life and death. She made her decision.

Stooping to scoop up the abandoned cloak, Varla threw herself against the wall, masking herself with her illusions.

She prayed Sheila would forgive her as half a dozen Orcs bombarded into the hall and spotted the helpless Thief. With a shout of triumph, two of the Orcs hefted the petite human, dragging her further into the keep. The rest of the battalion grunted and snorted in disappointment at having missed the fun; they went back to their listless activities in the courtyard.

Varla counted slowly, silently, to one hundred then counted the same hundred backwards. When enough time had passed, she carefully began to move towards the exit. The blast of heat almost overwhelmed her as she stepped into the courtyard on illusion-silenced feet. Wary of being caught with the stolen papers, not daring to even think what would have happened if Sheila had been the one carrying them, the woman inched towards the gate. An eternity passed in mere seconds before she was able to slip from the courtyard.

Once outside and past the Orcs, Varla began to run. Her illusion remained protectively intact as she dashed to the large boulder her companions had hidden behind. Around the back of the boulder, Varla finally let her illusion slip as her trembling body slid down the heated rock to the cracked earth. Tears ran down her face, trailing streaks in the dust and grime.

"Varla," Marinda's voice was a harsh whisper. "Where is Sheila?"

Daughter looked up at mother and shook her head, the tears choking her. Finally, she helplessly lifted her hands to sign the message. "Sheila. Caught."

Jaref swore harshly though his voice was equally quiet. He gripped his daughter's arm roughly and dragged her unprotestingly to her feet. "Let's go." Ignoring Marinda's gasp of shock, he tugged Varla with him as he dashed for the rock-strewn gully below. Marinda and Amber followed.

It wasn't until they were half an hour away, lost in a sparse woods at the edge of the Cracked Lands, that Jaref stopped. He released Varla's arm, wincing at the bruise already forming on her pale skin. He'd apologize later. "What happened, Varla? We heard shouting."

Varla shook her head, but she was calmer. In a broken voice, she said, "I don't know, Father. We were almost out. She screamed and lit up like a starburst. Then she fell unconscious." Varla clasped her friend's cloak to her chest. "I had to leave her. The Orcs would have run right through my illusion and disbelieved it. There was nothing else I could do." The tears she had banished broke forth again and Varla buried her face in the lavender cloak, shoulders shaking.

Marinda wrapped an arm around her daughter and squeezed gently.

"And the papers?"

"Jaref!" Marinda turned angry eyes on her husband. "How can you? Sheila's. . ."

The man slashed one hand through the air, his voice just as angry. "I know what's happened to Sheila. But we have a job to do." He turned his eyes on his daughter. "Did you get the papers, Daughter?"

She nodded, lifting her head. She understood her father; the mission as the very reason she had deserted her friend in the first place. But that didn't make her like him any more at the moment. Quickly, Varla swung the cloak about her own shoulders and clasped it in place, ignoring the stunned look on her mother's face and the disapproving one on her father's. She ignored Amber's low moan as the woman lifted her skirt to expose the papers tied firmly to her shapely thigh. "Yes," was all she said.

He nodded and gestured for Marinda to relieve their daughter of her stolen burden. The older woman worked quickly, releasing the leather strips and holding the precious scroll to her chest. Jaref opened his mouth but Varla cut him off.

"Amber, you fly faster than we walk. Take the scroll to our contact, the _Kadish_. Mother, Father, you follow behind her and join him. Our work is finished now." Varla started to turn back towards the Cracked Lands.

Jaref's voice was sufficiently anguished, stopping the woman in her goal. "And you? Will you sacrifice yourself to rescue Sheila, unarmed and alone?"

Varla stiffened. She took a breath, intent on telling him that she had planned to do exactly as he thought. But something flickered in her brain, some warning or memory. Letting the breath go, Varla turned to her parents. "No." Her voice was soft but determined. "We have allies at the tower to the west. I'll seek help there. I can get there quickly on my own. Together, we'll come back to rescue Sheila."

By the looks on her parents' faces, it was obvious that neither liked the decision. They respected their daughter and her skills, however. With a nod, Marinda kissed the young woman. Jaref nodded. They took long enough to secure the precious scroll in Amber's carrying harness then watched as the Faerie Dragon lifted high into the air and flew towards the east. Without looking back at Varla, afraid to break down at that critical time, her parents moved off to follow the path Amber flew. With a silent farewell for her parents and a silent promise for Sheila, Varla turned and headed on her own path, determined to find help and rescue her friend as quickly as may be.

The war would have to wait.

Continued in Chapter Twenty: Spies and Lost Souls


	20. Spies and Lost Souls

Title: Spies and Lost Souls

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 20 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Nothing major, again, just keeping it the same.

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Diana- 23 going on 24; Dekion- 33 going on 34; Amber- unknown

Summary: Diana and Dekion are doing more than charting the stars.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

An amused yet soft whisper drifted over the man at the table. "Rather odd, don't you think, to have a blind sentry?"

Dekion didn't reply, copying as fast as he could dip quill in ink and put it to paper. He did smile softly at Diana's quip; it was good to have a cheerful companion. He could have done this same task alone, but alone he had a tendency to get introspective, even morose. Alone-that path led to loneliness-the way he'd been when serving Venger for his evil greed-it would be all too easy to slide that way again. Yes, it was good to have Diana with him these days.

A movement from Diana alerted the Celestial Knight and he paused in his task to look questioningly at the Acrobat in her loose brown trousers and tube top-sometimes he missed the fur bikini she'd worn six years prior, though he wouldn't have told her.

She was literally poised on the balls of her bare feet, magic javelin in one hand and head cocked to listen. A soft from marred her beautiful face, framed by black curls. Slowly, silently, she leaned closer to the partially open door, her frown deepening. Unseeing chocolate-colored eyes widened suddenly before she turned instinctively towards her friend. "Feet. . ." the word was mouthed, no sound escaping the wary woman.

It was enough to spur both to action. While Dekion rose from the chair, Diana moved quickly towards the desk her companion stood behind. As she sprinted closer she threw her hands out over the desk separating them. He grabbed her hands and gracefully, without pause, swung her into the air and over the large desk. On the other side the dark-skinned woman curled and slid under the desk in one smooth, seemingly practiced, movement. Dekion pushed the chair partially after her to hinder easy view of the hidden woman.

After determining that Diana was effectively concealed, Dekion sprinted for the window, swinging over the sill with barely a pause for safety. He clung desperately to the harsh stone, thankful for the foresight they'd had to leave armor and shoes behind during this mission. He hoped the interloper would pass quickly-he'd had no time to copy half of the scroll-

_No!_ Dekion felt like kicking himself. He'd left the writing supplies on the desk. _Of all the stupid things to have done._ He could hear the approaching person but judged there to be enough time to perform one quick action. Hopefully it was enough to save their necks.

Holding back a groan of effort, Dekion pulled himself up so that he could see over the sill. In a harsh whisper, deliberately avoiding the too easily overheard _ess_ sound, he called out, "Paper-above-Di-"

Diana understood immediately. She slid the chair across the small rug behind the desk, the only place in the room sporting such a luxury, keeping one foot hooked to a chair leg in order not to waste time trying to find it in her blindness. Groping carefully, praying she wouldn't knock into the inkwell, the twenty-three year old felt papers crinkle in her fingers. Dekion's whispered "Good-" marked that she had hit upon the proper scroll and she slipped it over the edge, sliding back under the desk and tugging the chair back again to hide her. Once safe she tried to be careful of the still-wet ink on the sheets.

Dekion lowered himself once more and the pair nearly held their breaths in anticipation of the moment of discovery.

It never happened. The footsteps didn't even pause outside the door but kept right on down the hall and faded away. It was so anticlimactic that neither subversive dared move for a few minutes. Dekion pulled himself back over the ledge and sat upon it, taking a deep, steadying breath as he tried to ease his muscles. Diana slid from under the desk for the second time, smiling at their near miss.

"I need a better way of hiding," Dekion muttered.

"Or we need to start raiding first floors," Diana quipped back.

Their smiles were full of relief as the pair went back to work. Dekion retrieved the papers from Diana, carefully smoothed them out, and started writing once more, copying the scrolls on the desk as speedily as accuracy allowed. Diana moved gracefully towards the door, listening for any other noises that would have them rushing to hide again. A few minutes passed before the silence was broken.

"I think next time I should do the copying and you can play sentry."

Dekion glanced up with a slight frown before the humor in Diana's voice sunk in and he returned her playful smile.

"I think you are a fine sentry, Lady Diana."

Diana's quick frown was obviously a means of teasing Dekion for her smile shone forth not a few seconds later. She gestured with her hand for him to continue the copying, tilting her head at a distant sound. The Celestial Knight went back to his work with a smile lingering on his handsome features.

In only a few minutes Dekion closed the ink pot and cleaned his quill on a small rag kept for such a purpose. "Done." His deep voice reverberated too loudly and both froze like deer in a spotlight, listening intently for any signs of detection. It seemed like forever before they began to gather themselves in preparation of leaving, though neither relaxed.

Now came the riskiest part of the clandestine operation. Diana hurried to the large desk, relying on Dekion to safely steer her around obstacles. She made it to the window and leaned out, lifting a hand and flicking her fingers into a soft snapping noise. Naturally dark skinned, Diana would be visible in the noonday sun, but she was quicker and smaller so stood less chance than Dekion of being spied from the ground.

A cry rent the air in answer to Diana's signal and she moved back inside, bumping her stomach into the desk and wincing, holding back a yelp of sudden pain. Pushing back from the scarred, wooden desk, the dark-haired woman frowned and tilted her face up to her equally dark-haired companion. "Well," her voice was a soft whisper, pain from her injury laced throughout her tones, "I think that covers that. We can pass this information along when our messenger arrives tomorrow, Dekion."

The Celestial Knight nodded silently. Without comment, he took his papers from the table surface and rolled them into a tight scroll, slipping it into his belt for safekeeping; he lowered the flap over the scroll, revealing the white griffin head on a circle of black that was the standard of the Armies of Light. The emblem matched the one Diana kept on the vest she'd left with his armor that morning.

Offering an arm to his companion, the man glanced over his shoulder. Finally, he spoke, just as softly as she had before. "They will return soon. We must not be caught here, Lady Diana."

The Acrobat nodded and let him help her. She suppressed a groan at her protesting abdomen, following the man quietly from the fire-lit room.

As they made their quiet way down the tower steps, Dekion in front as had become habitual over the years, the pair refrained from unnecessary talking. Aware that they were in a precarious situation, they tried to stay to the shadows, hoping to be overlooked by anyone passing by.

Once more, the sounds of someone passing in the hallway came to the pair. Dekion's steadying hand went to Diana's back as he leaned forward and whispered "A being approach-be prepared."

Diana nodded, sliding her magical javelin from her waistband. She mentally willed it to its normal six foot length, feeling the reassuring hum of power under her light fingers. However, something wasn't right. The energy was too intense: a surge of unexpected power sent the javelin into another foot of length and heightened the intense greenish glow enough to temporarily blind her sighted companion. Diana bit her lip to keep from crying out at the pain caused by the surge, but she did drop her weapon, curling her hands against her already bruised abdomen. Without further sound or warning, the twenty-three year old woman slid into a faint, slumping forward and falling towards the hard stone floor, stopped only by the quick actions of her startled companion.

The footsteps again faded into the distance.

Dekion quickly picked the woman up into his strong arms, tucked her once more shrunken javelin into his belt with the scroll, and headed for the door. With great speed, while still wary of getting caught, the Celestial Knight carried his burden from the keep and towards the line of trees nearby.

A small, marigold colored Faerie Dragon zoomed overhead, her eyes shining brightly. If she had been less mature, the little dragon would most likely have been dangerously chattering away, but Amber had learned to keep her thoughts silent. As Dekion kept his watchful eye on the stone building they'd just left, the Faerie Dragon slipped whisper quiet through the trees and stopped on a low bush by the human pair. She adjusted her wings so the message harness she wore would not bungle them.

"Quickly," the excited, though soft, voice of the little dragon chirruped. "We've lost one, Diana."

Dekion's frown intensified and he shook his head. "Lady Diana's fainted. Tell me what you saw, Amber."

It had been quite a boon that day, three years previously, when the small orange-colored Faerie Dragon had excitedly flown into their camp. She had been unexpected but certainly welcome. The Faerie Dragon had giggled when she'd recognized the Acrobat she had once known. Explaining quickly, Amber had informed them that she was to play messenger for Diana and Dekion. According to Amber, there was another set of spies working for Dungeon Master, but the dragon only referred the leader of the small band as the _Grumpy One_. Both groups were to send messages, again through Amber, on to a third party, led by a man known as the _Kadish_. Now, after three years, Diana and Dekion were used to working through dragonet messenger, trading stolen secrets back and forth.

Amber flitted to Dekion's shoulder, her mouth close to the man's ear. "I didn't see what happened but our spies were inside. Two went in but only one came out. She said the other was captured. She had what she'd been sent for. I was supposed to go straight to the _Kadish_, but I came here first so you could go after her," Amber nodded her head, the movement rubbing her soft hide against Dekion's jaw-line.

"Amber, you need to carry these strategy plans to the _Kadish_. I will tend Diana then we will see what we can do for the prisoner. Where is she being held?" Dekion's voice was calm, in control: finally action after all of these long years of sneaking around, copying information, and the minor adventures of near misses and near capture. Rescuing one of their own was more along his idea of doing something worthwhile, and he knew Diana would approve the activity as well. He only hoped that whoever had taken their spy wouldn't kill or torture her.

A soft moan alerted the Faerie Dragon and the Celestial Knight that their companion was finally coming around. Kneeling, Dekion slipped his arm under Diana's shoulders and slowly sat her up. "Rest a moment. We are needed to rescue a prisoner as soon as you are able." He tilted the woman's head towards him, frowning at the dazed look in her eyes. "What happened to you in there?"

"I-" her head was clearing quickly, all but the pain from her bruises fading. She blinked her eyes in wonder and let them trail around. "Dekion-I-I can see!" Her chocolate eyes flew to the man's face, a man she'd spent six years with without once being able to see. She touched his cheek, still awed by her sudden reversal of handicap.

"Your sight returned and caused you to pass out?" There was slight confusion in the normally steady, deep voice.

Diana shook her head, pleased that there were no negative effects from her swoon. "No, my javelin surged. I don't know why, but it was like-" She slowly raised her eyes to Dekion's. "It was like the time we went to the Dragon's Graveyard. The power was so intense, it hurt. I guess it knocked me out." She didn't like that now that she had said it. If her javelin was malfunctioning, it could mean trouble, even with her newly restored sight.

"We have no time unfortunately. Amber says one of our spies was captured. We'll have to rescue her." Dekion helped Diana to stand, his eyes worriedly scanning her face for any signs of debilitation from either her faint or her newly returned sight. Perhaps it was best that it was so dark in the woods; that could only be a boon for suddenly restored vision.

The woman frowned and nodded, her hand on Dekion's well-muscled arm. "Okay. We'll rescue the prisoner. Amber, bring the-"

"Right-o, Diana. Dekion's already instructed me. Sheila'd be north at the Wall of Souls. That's were all the Orc mercenaries bring their captives these days." Amber allowed Dekion to strap the multiple charts and scrolls they'd collected into the harness on her back. With a jaunty "Good luck!" the Faerie Dragon took to the skies and flew south. In mere moments she disappeared from even the long-sighted view of the Celestial Knight.

Diana gasped. "Sheila?" She frowned, her stance confident as she experimentally bounced on her toes. "We're going to get her out, Dekion!"

The Knight nodded and took her elbow once more. "Yes, but we will take it slowly until I am sure you are well. If you pass out, you'll be no use to our friend. First we must get to the Wall of Souls. In your many journeys with the other Young Ones have you ever been there?"

She shook her head, dark hair bouncing with the movement. "I've never even heard of it. What do you know about it, Dekion?" She accepted his strictures, taking in stride that she would need to be careful: as an athlete that was one of the first things she'd learned.

"It is a cursed area where souls are ripped from the body and imprisoned. If that is the location of our enemy's stronghold, then, Lady Diana, we are dealing with the undead."

Diana stopped short and turned towards her companion. "The undead?" With a shudder, not arguing or backing down, Diana followed Dekion to their hidden equipment. "You mean zombies and vampires?"

Dekion started putting his armor on, glancing over his companion once to make sure she was donning boots and vest. "Yes, among others. There will be those that can drain your living soul and those that can cause you fear simply by passing close by." He glanced up at a scream from above the tree line, a grim smile turning his handsome features harsh. "I will send my Warbird to gather his brethren and meet us there."

Diana nodded. "Well, now we know."

"What do we know?" he asked, curious.

She turned to look him straight in the eye, adjusting her vest so the griffin emblem was clear over one breast. "We know what enemy Dungeon Master warned us about."

Continued in Chapter Twenty-One: Coming into His Own


	21. Coming into His Own

Title: Coming into His Own

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 21 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Some blood and romance

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Presto- 23; Ayisha- 23; Ramuud- adult; Jaref- adult; Marinda- adult; Amber- adult

Summary: Presto is no longer a child. The Wizard must decide what he will do in the coming war.

Note: A ghast is an undead creature more evil and intelligent than a ghoul. From 'ghoul' we get 'ghoulish', from 'ghast' we get 'ghastly'. At least that is what TSR has said.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

"Ayisha, duck!" Presto grabbed the woman and pushed her down the rocky slope, curling his body protectively around her. The pair rolled into the spoke wheel of one of the large supply wagons.

Thwarted, the grey-skinned figure in bedraggled clothing swooped upwards once more intent on another victim. It rose on a warm thermal and circled once, eyeing the besieged caravan amid the sparse trees and cracked boulders. Strung out along the narrow, rutted path the wagons made an easy target for the flying attackers.

Momentarily reprieved Presto uncurled from around Ayisha and grabbed her linen-clad arm, fingers closing over the black badge with the white griffin head all members of the caravan sported. "C'mon!" Flattening onto his belly, the auburn-haired man started shimmying under the heavy wagon of weapons.

Ayisha ignored the damage to her clothes and followed the man, skimming over the rocky, baked roadway. Her arms and hands tangled in her long, loose hair as it caught on rocks and other road debris. In future she would remember to secure it up. With a short tug she freed her hair and continued crawling after Presto.

Once on the other side of the wagon the pair rose into a crouch. Presto led the way, limping slightly, towards the back of the wagon, alert for another swooping attack from their enemy. Scooting around the rear axel, he laced his slender, work-roughened hands together. He nodded as Ayisha slipped her booted foot onto his improvised step.

Absent-mindedly the pair simultaneously said "Alley oop," as Presto heaved the woman up to the flap of the high wagon. She slid under the tarp out of sight.

Certain Ayisha would arm herself, not waiting to see what she took from the stores, Presto turned and strode purposefully towards the front of the caravan, ignoring his limp of four years. The screams of animals and humans clashed with the hissing calls of the attacking creatures. Above the roar of battle Ramuud's voice rang with confidence, giving orders to his brave people and heartening his foster son.

Stepping past the burden beast's head, Presto barely noted one of the older children trying to keep it calm as she ducked out of sight whenever their attackers came into view. The twenty-three year old Magician concentrated solely on planning his attack. As he moved to the back of the next wagon Presto pushed his long green tunic out of his way. His fine-boned hand slid into the pocket of his tan cotton trousers, pulling out a folded piece of green cloth. Catching his soft boot on a rock, Presto winced as his left foot came down wrong, shooting pain through the old injury; he ignored it and stepped past the back of the head wagon. Nothing would distract him from defending his foster family and the supply wagons.

Before he could reach the front of the wagon another gliding enemy made a swoop at Presto, long cruel talons rending a wide gash in the human's tunic. The creature circled for another dive as a second creature broke from the marauding pack, hissing as it plunged towards Ramuud. Wrapping its bone-cold hands around the desert king's throat, it lifted him into the air. Ramuud clutched at the evil thing's taloned hands, Sonar Sword falling forgotten to the ground as he tried to break the deadly choke hold.

From somewhere behind Ayisha screamed, "Father!"

Presto flipped his wrist with a practiced snap, the cloth in his hand unfolding into his familiar conical wizard's hat. He barely flicked his fingers, eyes following Ramuud's attacker, a soft purple glow beginning at the opening of the hat. His voice was steady and low.

_"Winds of mountains strong,  
Mists of oceans vast,  
Sands of deserts long,  
Rid us of these ghasts."_

The hat glowed brighter. A mist rose and a wind whipped hot sands around the airborne menace. A long low howl rose eerily on the magical wind. Ghasts keened and hissed angrily, trying to fight the increasing force.

Presto smiled in triumphant as he watched the whirling sandstorm roll over the enemy. But soon horror turned the smile into a scream. "No! Ramuud!" The sandstorm had enveloped not only the undead foes but the caravan leader as he struggled against his attackers. Presto waved his hand desperately over his glowing hat calling "cease!"

The cancellation word did not have the desired effect. The glow increased and the storm strengthened.

"No!" The word tore from Presto's throat, injuring his vocal chords. His scream was so intense blood vessels broke in his eyes, and Presto could see nothing through the haze of bloody tears. He did not see his hat's glow turn into a blinding flash of brilliant purple. Nor did he see Ayisha's lithe figure running past him toward the battle. He only felt an intense, searing pain throughout his entire body before he fell into oblivion.

xxx

A gentle caress on his forehead roused Presto from his faint. Something cool, soft, and moist lay over his eyes while his throat felt hot, raw, and torn. For a moment he couldn't understand what had happened. Then he remembered. His hat had gone wonky: something that hadn't happened since he'd been forced into long practice hours when his foot had been so badly damaged four years before. Another memory seeped into his pain-clouded mind and he reached up to pull the cloth from his eyes, trying to sit up.

Firm hands on his nude shoulders held him in place. "No, Albert. You need to rest."

He lay back, recognizing Ayisha's voice. "Ahh-" pain seared his tortured throat as he tried to speak. This time inability came from genuine injury; he had not had a loss of feeling since he'd been confined to bed from that foot injury. He was thankful for that small respite.

She may have been out of the habit of translating for Presto but Ayisha had apparently not lost her understanding. She said, "Father is injured but not terribly. He will heal in time."

The cloth was removed from Presto's eyes and he slowly blinked them open, dreading what he'd find. Instead pleasant surprise coursed through him at the clear and painless condition of his eyes.

Ayisha dropped the cloth into a basin by her hip. "I used some of Father's _Clear Water_ to cleanse your eyes, Albert. When you are able I will help you to drink a tonic for your throat." She ran a gentle hand over his forehead and down his cheek. A small smile caught at her lips as her fingers met with the beginnings of stubble. "The tonic will not work as quickly as Father's potion, but it will ease the hurt from your scream."

Presto met her weary brown eyes with his own golden ones. She looked worn out but unhurt. That was surprising as he knew her to be a fierce warrior, often spinning and leaping as she screamed defiance to her enemies. Ramuud called her a Dervish at those times; she was a sight to behold and Presto was sorry he'd missed it. Flushing, he reminded himself that to see Ayisha as a Dervish was to see her fighting for her life and that was something he never wanted to live through again. She had come to mean so much to him in the last six years; losing her was unthinkable.

Trying to regain his composure Presto looked around, recognizing that he lay in Ramuud's private tent. He froze when he spotted the figure lying nearby bandaged on face, torso, arms, and hands. Presto whimpered then grimaced in pain.

Again Ayisha understood his unspoken question, looking to the other cot. "Your spell seared the ghasts to bone and ash." Her eyes met his. "It also flayed the skin from Father's hide-at least where his clothes did not reach." She touched Presto's cheek, adding "he is proud of you, My Brother. You saved the caravan."

Grunting softly, Presto closed his eyes, feeling as if he'd let the family down rather than saved them from the airborne undead. Why had his hat done that? He'd had control over the magic for years now. And that awful pain-what had happened?

"Albert?"

Presto opened his eyes. Ayisha rose and moved softly towards a small ornate table. There she removed a carafe of water from a small fire, measured herbs into the container, and shook it gently to mix it. She turned and brought it to him, sitting on the bed beside his hip rather than on the stool she'd occupied earlier. "Drink this, My Brother. It will soothe your throat."

Feeling the heat of her body close to his, the press of her hip against his own, Presto flushed a dull red. Thankful for the distraction he swallowed the odd tasting liquid, surprised that it felt like oil and tasted like nutmeg and honey. The fiery pain eased in his throat and he offered a smile to Ayisha, trying to ignore the intimacy of their positions.

"Your hat-"

He blinked and nodded, sighing. He still couldn't talk but he wanted to apologize for messing up yet another spell. Trying to communicate, Presto slid one hand over Ayisha's, his eyes studying her face intently.

She smiled at him in reassurance. "When you tried to stop the spell your hat seemed to explode. It was as if the hat was defying you, wanting to fight our enemies."

Explode? Presto sat up in shock, his sheet slipping to his waist. He barely avoided knocking Ayisha off his cot. He reached out and encircled her arms in his hands, steadying her.

Ayisha gave a brisk shake of her head, one long braid swinging behind her. "You hat is not damaged." She gestured to the Weapon of Power lying on a nearby nightstand. "The magic inside exploded. Light and heat enveloped us all. We thought it had-killed you." Her voice dropped to a whisper at the end and she blinked her eyes rapidly to brush away tears.

Shocked by her unexpected emotions Presto pulled her against his chest, slipping up a hand to cradle her head against his shoulder. He made small murmuring noises: all he could manage so far. She had worried for him? He was the one who'd nearly killed her father! Presto closed his eyes at the sharp spike of guilt that accompanied the thought.

After a long moment Ayisha whispered, "I could not bear to lose father-or you, Albert." She lifted her head and cupped his face in her hands, startling him. With a fierce determination Ayisha slanted her mouth over his in a desperate kiss.

Presto groaned and returned the kiss, his eyes drifting closed.

A pained chuckle from the other cot had the pair pulling apart guiltily. "Ah, that is good to see, My Children." Ramuud's bandaged head was turned towards the young couple, his brown eyes lit with joy despite the pain. "A man should awake to such every day of his life."

Embarrassment shot through Presto and his eyes shot open as he turned a fiery red. "Uh," he attempted to speak but his injury prevented any verbal defense.

He was saved by Ayisha's worried voice as she rose from Presto's cot. "My Father, are you in pain?" She moved to the older man's side, reaching for a mug on the nightstand there.

"Some pain, My Daughter." Ramuud's voice remained amused, approving, but he relented and forbore teasing his foster son further. She brought the mug to his lips and he took a long swallow. Lifting one bandaged hand, he touched his daughter's cheek with a light finger. "Your hair is plaited as when you were a child, My Daughter?" Surprise laced his words.

With a nod Ayisha put the mug down, the braid swishing unfamiliarly against her backside. "Yes. During the battle it got caught on the road. I feel this a safer style unless I am to cut it off."

"Never!" Ramuud's voice lost its teasing tone. He moved his hand slowly to touch the woman's raven locks. "Keep your hair, My Daughter. Plait it if that is your wish." Leaving his hand on Ayisha's hair, Ramuud turned his head a fraction to look at Presto. "Thank you for your actions, My Son. You saved our people this day."

The sound of shouts from outside of the tent interrupted whatever Presto may have done to respond. Ayisha grabbed up her long skirts and ran for the tent flap, disappearing outside. She was gone some time as both men remained silent, waiting. They were too intent on what might be happening to even look at one another. By the time the tent flap reopened Presto had his emotions under control.

Ayisha held the canvas open, allowing two people to enter. The pair was dressed in rough brown cotton: one in trousers, the other in skirts. Both had on sturdy boots and sported plain daggers at their belts. They wore the griffin head emblem of the Armies of Light. While neither Ayisha nor Ramuud recognized the weary humans Presto did.

He straightened in his cot, making a welcoming sound in his throat.

Confusion crossed Jaref's features as he observed the wounded men in the tent: one bandaged heavily, the other appearing uninjured: nothing marring his well-toned chest and shoulders. The young man had golden eyes in a weather-beaten face, the hint of red-gold stubble starting on his cheeks, and deeper auburn hair curling over his neck. He was thin and appeared almost delicate belying the obvious strength in his muscular torso. It took a moment for Jaref to recognize the man with the slight over-bite then shock coursed over him. "You are the Wizard who saved my daughter!"

Marinda, beside her husband, smiled and hurried towards the young man. "Oh, it is good to see you once more, Young One." Like her husband, she couldn't recall the man's name, and it embarrassed her.

"Jaref? Marinda?" Presto had no such trouble with their names, though his throat protested at the abuse so soon after injury. His voice was raspy and almost too soft to hear. There was a time he thought he might be in love with their daughter. Over the years he'd come to recognize that there were many types of love; he just couldn't name which one he felt for the pretty red-haired Illusionist.

A smile settled on Ayisha's features. She could place these people now that she'd heard their names. Often Presto had spoken of their daughter, Varla, as if she were another foster sister: one he was very close to. "Our guests have come to join us. Marrek was unsure what to do so I bring them to you, My Father." Ayisha turned towards the new pair. "This is my father, Ramuud, King of Kadeesh. You are known to Albert."

"Aelbh-Urt?" Confusion laced Marinda's soft voice.

Presto frowned at the odd pronunciation, the way the woman inflected his name, making it sound like Alb-Ert. He nodded at them but realized he shouldn't over-stress his throat, so looked to Ayisha to speak for him. Still he hadn't missed the pain and confusion in the eyes of Jaref and Marinda.

Gesturing towards two cushioned stools by Ramuud's cot, Ayisha said "as a child, he was called Presto. Now, please, My Aunt. Please, My Uncle. Be seated and let me refresh you from your journey." She moved to the sideboard and began gathering fruits, nuts, and refreshing water from the cooling trays there.

"Yes, My Brother, My Sister. Welcome to our home." Ramuud remained lying on his cot, not moving his injured arms even in his habitual enthusiastic physical gesticulations. His voice was all welcome and joy though. "What causes you to travel so far?" His brown eyes flicked over the badges and back to their faces.

Their attention sufficiently, though inadvertently, drawn from Presto the pair moved to obey the gentle commands of their hosts. Jaref laced his fingers with Marinda's. His face set into stern lines as he replied "hasn't Amber arrived?"

"Not yet. We expect her by the rising of the moon." Ramuud pushed himself to a sitting position. He ignored his daughter's gasp of worry, lifting a hand painfully. "My Daughter, I am not as badly injured as some." He turned brown eyes on the other man. "You have knowledge of the Faerie Dragon, My Brother?"

"Brother?" Jaref frowned his confusion but determined that this king merely had an odd way of speaking. He accepted the mug and bowl with a nod of thanks. "Yes. She brings our messages to the _Kadeesh_. That'd be you?"

Ramuud accept a mug from his daughter. "Yes. I am called the Kadeesh by my people. You are one of our scouts." It was not a question.

Ayisha passed drink and food to Marinda, whose eyes had not left Presto's face. The older woman studied him as if looking for something. The desert princess frowned softly and moved to serve her foster brother. She only had half an ear on her father's conversation and was surprised to here familiar names come from the visitor.

"Yes. Our last mission went wrong. Sheila was captured and Varla went for help. Amber was supposed to have brought the papers here before we arrived." Jaref grunted once as Ramuud pushed back his covering and reached for soft trousers to cover his near nudeness.

His daughter hurried over, slipping the tray to the bed, and put a hand out to stop him. "No, My Father. You are more hurt than you allow."

With a frown Ramuud turned a stern look on his daughter. "Your sister is prisoner as you once were. We must free her as she did you so long ago." The man never questioned the assignment of spy for Sheila; with her cloak it made perfect sense.

Presto stood quickly. He gestured to his chest and made a grunting noise. Everyone turned their attention to him and he gestured again.

"Yes," Ayisha nodded and turned back to her father. "My brother is only injured in his throat. He and I will go to our sister. You need guide this caravan to the Wall of Souls for the coming battle, My Father. By then you will have healed enough to resume your place at the fore of battle."

Reaching for his ripped, blood-stained tunic, Presto turned his back to the visitors, feeling shy suddenly. Marinda gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Jaref paled and he put a trembling hand on his wife's shoulder. His eyes roved the young man's back, settling on a long purplish scar run with black that wove raggedly just above the waistband of his shortpants. With a frown Presto turned to look at the pair. He tilted his head in confusion.

Jaref's voice was unsteady as he asked, "Where did you get that scar?"

"Scar?" he whispered. Presto turned, trying to see his back. He twisted the other way. Finally he searched around the tent and saw a mirror. With a quick glance at the others he walked to the mirror and turned his back to it, looking over his shoulder at the long-healed gash. "Oh, that! I don't remember." He shrugged and looked at the others. "I've always had it ever since I was a baby. My adopted mom said I got it before she adopted me." He shrugged again. "It's never bothered me. I forgot it was there." His throat hurt and he took a long swallow of the now cool tonic Ayisha had given him earlier.

Marinda's eyes welled with tears. "Adopted?" Hope rose in her voice. "Who were your birth parents, Aelbh-Urt?"

Hand tightening on Marinda's shoulder, Jaref hissed out, "Marinda, enough. He is not even from our world. It is coincidence, nothing more." His expression grew harsher as he spoke until finally he turned his face from the young man before them.

"How can it be coincidence, Jaref? His name? The bond-scar? He has traveled worlds, Jaref. It is possible this is not the first time."

Presto was confused. "Bond-scar? What's that?"

Ramuud walked over and gently lay a hand on Presto's shoulder, turning Presto's back to the mirror once more. Ramuud traced the scar with one bandaged finger. A shudder ran through the younger man and Ramuud nodded once. "Are you a twin, My Son?"

"Twin?" Presto's voice rose and would have cracked if he hadn't long since gotten past puberty.

Ayisha nodded, something akin to joy lighting her chocolate eyes. "Oh, yes, My Brother. When twins are in the womb they can be joined."

Presto couldn't resist the snort of amusement. This was a subject he knew from the old days. "Yes, identical twins, Ayisha-same sex-come from the same egg and sperm. Fraternal twins come from two eggs and two sperm so can't be joined. Those twins can be boy and girl. But I don't know of any twin brother. Mom never mentioned any." He sipped the tonic once more.

"In the other world perhaps fraternal twins do not bond. But in the Realm they can," Ayisha countered. "Perhaps you have a twin sister?"

Presto nearly choked, gripping his carafe tightly.

Marinda nodded. "Yes. A single strip of skin will fuse and can be cut after birth. The twins will be unusually close, but the place of bonding will only suffer if the twin that shares it suffers."

"Enough!" Jaref's hand sliced through the air, a sweep of anger to match his shout. "Our son is dead, Marinda. You cannot think this man from another world can be-"

"Your son?" Presto's voice dropped to a whisper. It might not be true, but things began to click: his closeness to Varla; his feeling of being home in the Realm; his ability with magic. All made sense with this new possibility. And, though he didn't explore the idea, Presto wouldn't have to feel guilty for abandoning Varla for Ayisha, not if the pretty redhead was his twin sister.

"Jaref-" Marinda's soft whisper pleaded with her husband.

He turned angry eyes on his wife. "No, Marinda. It is time you let him go. He died at. . ."

"Three years old," Presto interrupted, his voice strange even to his own ears: tight and hoarse but not due to his injury.

They turned stunned looks on him.

"I was in a fire. A man pulled me out. He had been looking for my mother." Presto's voice had turned to a near drone: the voice of someone reciting something memorized but not understood, the voice of a man in a trance. "He couldn't save her but he found me. He brought me through the colors to a new home, a new mother. He was not well and died a couple years later. She kept me because it was her duty; she was charged with my care." Presto blinked his golden eyes and sank onto the floor by the mirror, his shoulder pulling from Ramuud's grasp, tonic spilling at the sudden drop. "I-I can't think." He dropped his head into his hands, his mind awhirl with the confusing, conflicting images their words had opened up.

Ramuud knelt down, ignoring the pain from his flayed torso. "Ayisha, a sleeping tonic."

The tent door flapped open and the little marigold Faerie Dragon swooped in exhausted and all but winded. "No time. Sheila's been caught. Oh!" She back-winged when she saw Jaref and Marinda in the tent. "Uh- you got here safely?"

"Where were you?"

"Aelhb-Urt?"

"Where do they take my daughter?"

"Has she been hurt?"

"Enough!" Presto looked up, his throat rasping in protest of the scream. "I can't take the sleep tonic, Ramuud. I need to save Sheila." He rose, pulling himself from the floor and straightening his shoulders. "Jaref, Marinda, we'll talk later. You go with Ramuud and the caravan to the Wall of Souls. The Army of Light will need these supplies." He looked to each in turn as he spoke. "Ramuud, you accompany the caravan and heal so you can fight in the battle we know is coming. Ayisha, you'll come with me in case Sheila's hurt or I need help.

Amber, you tell me what you know then stay with the caravan. You might be needed for messages." Authority rang through the Magician's voice and everyone stared at him a moment before reacting.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, they acquiesced. It wasn't long before plans were made and the two travelers were equipped for their journey, complete with a canteen of soothing tonic to aid Presto's raw throat. With only a grateful glance at his host Presto tucked his folded hat into the pocket of his trousers. Ayisha paused long enough to pick up her father's sword. As she strapped the belt around her hips, she turned an apologetic look on her unresisting father. "I may have need of this, My Father."

Ramuud grabbed each young person by the shoulders and bestowed farewell kisses on each of their cheeks. He did not even glance at his Weapon of Power as Ayisha turned towards the northeast. Rather, he raised a hand in farewell as he watched his daughter and his foster son head towards their destiny. He prayed he would see them both again.

Continued in Chapter twenty-three: Find the Lost Trail


	22. Finding the Lost Trail

Title: Finding the Lost Trail

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 22 / 33

Rating: PG-13: minor language and blood

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Hank- 24 going on 25; Timothy- 18; Varla- 23; Freddie (Fritz)- 9 (assumed)

Summary: A bow, a spy, a dog, and the undead-does it get any worse?

Note: After re-watching the entire series (all 27 episodes) I caught a "blooper". When first introduced, Terri's dog is called Fritz. Every time his name is mentioned thereafter he is called Freddie. Thought everyone would find that amusing.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Fastening his wide leather belt over his studded leather tunic, eyes on his hands as he walked, Hank stepped from the tree line into the clearing. His shoulder-length blond hair was still damp from his swim and he felt rejuvenated. It wasn't often they came across fresh water they could bathe in. His voice relaxed, he answered Timothy. "Yes, yes, alright. I'll teach you to use a bow."

Glancing up, light blue eyes reflecting his good mood, the twenty-four year old Ranger smiled at the eighteen year old Knight. "It might be easier with mine since you won't have to worry about learning to knock an arrow. It's automatic with this bow." Hank pulled his tunic hood from under the leather hauberk, letting it settle in folds around his neck and shoulders.

Stopping next to his friend, Hank accept the arm band with the white griffin head encircled in black. The emblem of the Armies of Light had been provided by Timothy, who claimed his father, Sir John, had been recruiting for the last six years. Oddly enough wherever Hank and Timothy went the emblem was recognized-though not always welcomed. Still, there were more allies willing to listen to Hank's news about the coming war and the enemy's wraiths now he sported the badge.

With a smile Hank reached over and began to fasten the leather and buckles that held Timothy's scale mail together. "It might be easier if you took off the armor to begin with though."

Timothy's head came up and he turned his thoughtful grey-green eyes on the older man. "Uh-okay." He began removing his armor once more, fumbling with the clasp of his left flank buckle.

Hank laughed and helped him.

Once free of the armor Timothy bounced on his stocking feet. "I'm ready, Hank." Excitement made his voice crack, and he flipped his damp, shaggy, light brown hair out of his eyes. It flopped right back in place bringing a rueful grin from the young Knight and an amused chuckle from the Ranger.

"Alright." Hank grabbed his Energy Bow from their small bundle of supplies and stepped up next to Timothy. "First you choose a target. It's senseless to draw a bow without knowing where you'll aim." Hank lifted the bow in his left hand and pointed a finger of his right. "That dead tree will do nicely."

Timothy nodded, repeating "choose a target. Don't draw without aiming. Got it." An intense look crossed the young man's face and his tone was suddenly sober. The youth took weapons training very seriously.

Hank brought his right hand up close to the bow, two fingers positioned to grab an invisible string. "Keep your bow arm straight: that aids in power, distance, and, most importantly, aim. If your arm wobbles or moves your arrow flies who knows where. You could hit an ally." At Timothy's nod Hank said "with a different bow, you'll need to grip the string with two fingers: the index finger and the center finger. Then pull back until your hand reaches your ear." Hank pulled his fingers back. The magical energy that made up his string and arrow hummed to life with a golden glow. Hank let his arm relax, the arrow disappearing unfired.

"Keep the bow arm straight. Pull the string to the ear." Timothy imitated Hank's stance and movements even with no bow to work. "And somewhere in there would be, uh," he searched his mind for the term Hank had so casually let slip. Face shining in triumph, he crowed "ah! Somewhere in there would be _'knock the arrow'_!"

Hank groaned playfully, his smile remaining in place. "Maybe you should learn with a normal bow."

"No, I don't mind, Hank." Timothy bounced on stocking feet again secretly glad to be out of his mail-layered boots for awhile. "Besides the town nearby doesn't carry weapons of quality. I should know; it's where I met you the first time." He shot a grin at the other man, receiving a look of surprise in return.

Studying his friend, Hank frowned softly. "Were you holding out on me, Timothy?" His voice sounded more confused than accusatory.

Timothy shook his head. "No. I only just remembered. Father and I were only there for a few days and had been run out of town about the time you showed up. I remembered because you helped Father prove he was no coward and the townspeople welcomed us." He shrugged, grinning widely. "We moved on after about a week more, though. Father wanted to begin his campaign to start the Armies of Light. You know: a group of people who would go help others like the _Children of Power_ did."

The Knight placed a hand on Hank's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You changed Father's entire outlook, Hank. He _was_ a coward before you showed him what even one man could do. I think he was really impressed with the one my age: Bobby."

"Bobby?" Hank's head snapped back as if struck. That name was familiar. He whirled around, lowering his bow arm and gripping Timothy's shoulder with his right hand. "I know you told me about our meeting before-something with a beholder. But you never got to mention their names."

"Yeah," the Knight nodded slowly. "We got interrupted by that guy you overheard and had to leave out the back."

Hank nodded. "Right. But you remember their names, right? You called one Bobby. That was. . ." Hank fell silent, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. In a softer voice, he said "that was a small blond boy. He looked like me but-stockier. He was. . ." the image was lost and Hank looked at Timothy with frustrated eyes. "I wish I could remember."

A sympathetic smile crossed Timothy's face. He squeezed Hank's shoulder. "Yes, Bobby was my age. He'd have been about eight or nine. See, you remembered. He was blond with blue eyes, like you."

Hope surged in Hank. He had remembered at least a little bit. "He's my brother?" Hank's voice held hope that was quickly dashed.

"I don't think so. No one mentioned you two were brothers." Timothy saw the look in Hank's eyes and soothed, "hey, it's possible. Just 'cause you never said doesn't mean he wasn't, right?"

The Ranger nodded not convinced. Voice soft, he said "When I think of him, I feel as if he were my brother." He glanced at Timothy. "Does that make sense?"

Timothy smiled widely and nodded. "Perfect sense, actually. You treated the _Children of Power_ like brothers and sisters. I figure you were a close group. And with you being their leader it makes sense you would look out for them."

"I was their leader?" Hank was stunned. "But-but that means they've needed me for-"

"Stop right there, Hank."

With a frown Hank shut his mouth. He wanted to protest and to rail at failing his friends for so long, but something in Timothy's tone made him listen instead. The Knight's voice sounded the same as when he was training.

Timothy dropped his hand from Hank's shoulder and reached for the bow the other man held tightly gripped. Once he'd pried the weapon loose, he turned and lifted it in his left hand. "You told me you've been wandering, looking for them for six years." He straightened his arm, checking off the mental list Hank had given him. "You had amnesia and couldn't remember anyone or anything until recently and not even much now." Sighting his target, Timothy brought his right hand up to the bow and started curling two fingers around air. His look registered surprise as he felt the energy hum to life, but he calmed his mind once more. "So, you had no choice. Besides, Diana was a pretty damn fine secondary to you. She would have taken over with you gone. Your friends are in good hands."

"Diana?" Hank's voice was confused, miserable.

Pulling back on the energy string, Timothy felt the tug of muscles unused to such activity. The bow's magic hummed through his entire arm, leaving a tingling sensation through his shoulder and spine. Taking a deep breath, the Knight once more sighted the dead tree then released the bowstring as he'd seen his companion do several times in their last three months together. The arrow shot from the bow with the speed of light, striking true. The dead tree shattered in a searing explosion of power. Timothy whooped in delight. "I did it!"

Hank forced his attention to Timothy's target and nodded. "Good job." The praise was instinctive, his mind on the question of his friends more than on the ease with which an archer could use his _Weapon of Power_. Hank secretly thought the Energy Bow made things as easy as possible for even the most novice archers.

As Timothy lifted the bow to try again, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder. His voice was soft, serious, as he asked "could you tell me their names? What do they look like?"

Turning his head, lowering the bow, Timothy studied his friend and current mentor. He came to a decision. "We'll be in town by noon, Hank. When we stop to eat there the townspeople can tell you more than I ever could know. They held a feast in your honor when you came back after the Beholder Quest. The mayor spoke with each of you specifically."

"Please, Timothy? Could you tell me at least something? I've been looking so long."

Timothy bowed his head and took a long, deep breath. "Okay, but I really don't know much. I was so scared during that battle I wet myself." The young Knight gestured to their small supply packs in the shade of a tree. "Let's sit."

Hank hurried to the spot and sank to the ground, bending his knees and crossing his ankles. He placed his hands on his knees and looked expectantly at Timothy.

For his part Timothy tried to dredge through the memories of two weeks in the life of a nine year old misfit. He slipped to a sitting position next to Hank, laying the bow across his own lap as he bit his lip in deliberation. Finally he raised his head and spoke in a clear, though uncertain, voice. "Okay. You were the team leader. You were called the Ranger and carried the magic bow. Next was Diana, the Acrobat. She had dark skin and eyes-like chocolate. Her hair was black and held in some sort of gold head piece. She wore fur shorts and top, I think. She carried a javelin-or was it a quarterstaff?" Timothy frowned briefly. "Either way she seemed to be your second in command. Uh, Bobby was the little blond boy. He was dressed in fur, too, and he carried a club. He was the. . ."

"Barbarian." Hank's voice held wonder as the detail came to him. "But he went home." Puzzled by the odd thought, Hank turned questioning eyes to Timothy. "Didn't he? And where's home?" Suddenly Hank realized he had no clue where he came from. True, he'd known he'd forgotten that fact along with everything else, but it hadn't bothered him until then. Where was home? Did he have a family who missed him? Needed him?

"Yeah," Timothy's voice cut through Hank's introspection, drawing his attention again. "The Barbarian. I don't know if he ever got home. He was one brave kid. His sister, Sheila, was always yelling at him."

"Sheila-" the name was familiar. A flicker of purple and red came and went in Hank's memory. He cleared his throat. "Go on."

"Right, Sheila. She was the Thief, but she didn't steal, which was odd, huh?"

Hank smiled absently. "Sheila was honest as the day she was born." Eyes widening, he turned a shocked look to his companion. "She was miserable as a Thief. She hated lying and stealing. She. . ." but, again, the memory flitted away. A low dull pounding began in Hank's head. The more he tried to grasp at the memories the less he could remember-and the more his head hurt. He rubbed his temple with supple fingers.

Timothy laughed unaware of his friend's pain. "Right. Sheila was a redhead and wore a purple dress and cloak. Next was the Magician, Presto. He was a goofy looking kid." Timothy smiled ruefully. "Not that _I_ wasn't. But his teeth stuck out and he wore spectacles. He had brown or red hair, I can't remember." Turning proud eyes on Hank, Timothy frowned at the Ranger's distraction. It appeared that Hank was in pain. Timothy didn't stop talking, figuring Hank would shut him up if things got worse, but it worried him to see his very capable friend looking so pale. "He had. . ."

The Ranger interrupted in a soft voice "a magic hat that never worked right." He found it hard to get excited about the sudden insight especially as nothing else came with it but more pain.

"Yeah," Timothy softened his voice further. "Then there was Eric, the Cavalier. He carried a. . .whoa!" Timothy jumped up, excitement coursing through his body as he bent over and rummaged through his own pack.

"Whoa what?" Hank asked in a soft voice, still rubbing his temples and not bothering to look. Really, he should stop Timothy so he could ease the headache, but he'd waited too long for the information. When Timothy didn't answer right away Hank looked up. "What's the matter?"

Timothy pulled something out of the pack and turned to Hank triumphantly, holding up his Armies of Light badge. "This."

Hank shook his head. "I don't get it. Eric the Cavalier was part of your father's Armies of Light?"

"No. His shield had this griffin symbol on it." Timothy traced the white griffon head on the black circle. "He carried a golden shield. It was magical, like your bow, only it created protective fields around him and anyone near him." Timothy sank to his knees next to Hank. "It's where Father got the idea for the badge. He felt people would follow it. I'm surprised I'd forgotten that detail." He laughed and fingered the cloth again. "Wow. Eric was the one who gave Father _his_ shield, Father's, not Eric's. It was a plain circle of metal, but Father _was_ proud of that shield. Later he commissioned one of stronger metal but the same design."

Grinning, Timothy looked at Hank and frowned again, feeling his elation fade in sight of Hank's continued paleness. "Are you okay, Hank? You don't look good."

Hank sighed. "It's this headache. The more I try to remember the more it throbs."

"Then don't remember." Timothy's voice was firm and he stood. Slipping the armband back into his pack-it fit better over his mail hauberk-the Knight scooped up Hank's bow once more. "Let's practice."

The men returned to the side of the road and once more faced the tree line. The dead tree that had been Timothy's first target was a smoldering heap of ash and splinter. Timothy pointed out a second target. "That huge black stump with the felled tree next to it," he advised Hank. When Hank nodded his agreement the teen began his mental checklist.

He firmed his stance and lifted the bow in his left hand. Centering his eyes on the stump, Timothy curled the two forefingers of his right hand around the magical string, feeling it hum to life. It seemed to be stronger, brighter, more-tingly-than before. Tim brushed that thought away and pulled the string back to his ear. He could hear the hum this time. Frowning at the change in intensity, Timothy tried to keep his concentration. The bow suddenly flared in a brightness to rival the sun overhead. The hum screamed through the air and vibrated into Timothy's very bones. Electrical surges coursed into his arm and down his back, shooting fire through his nervous system. Timothy screamed, overwhelmed with pain and energy, and let go the magic arrow as his arm instinctively lowered. The arrow shot into the ground below his feet, ripping a huge smoking gash in the grass and earth, sending up chunks of molten rubble in all directions.

"Whoa!" Hank jumped out of the way, ducking against the shower of rock and other debris. "Timothy!" He whirled around to find his friend lying on the ground, whimpering; his leg was bleeding and his arm was bent under him. The bow was lying silently next to the fallen teen.

Hank knelt by Timothy and began to check him, hands running carefully over the youth. The bent arm was only bruised; Hank was thankful for that small favor. Timothy's leg was gashed but not severely so. The Ranger grabbed a canteen and dashed through the stand of trees to the lake for clean water then returned to tend and dress the Knight's wound.

"What'd I do wrong?" Timothy gasped out, tears of pain streaming down his dirty face.

"I don't know." Hank finished tying off the bandage and sat back on his feet. He frowned and picked up the bow, studying it carefully. "I don't remember it ever doing that before." At Timothy's grunt, Hank amended, "at least, it hasn't done it in the last six years. . .oh my. . ."

Wonder laced the man's voice and he turned wide eyes on Timothy. "I think I figured it out. The bow must have surged like that and knocked me out. I got amnesia from the head trauma and-but, no. Why would my friends disappear if I was hurt?" He frowned, raising a hand to his temple, his head throbbing insistently.

Pain shading his voice, Timothy rolled his head sideways to look at Hank. "Maybe they had to? If you were that bad hurt, they might not have been able to take you wherever they were going. The _Children of Power_ had to go where the Dungeon Master told them to. You were his apprentices."

"Dungeon Master?" Hank shook his head. No recognition lit his mind this time. "I don't know that name."

Timothy nodded and grunted, slowly sitting. Thankfully the energy was wearing off. Only his leg hurt-well with any significance. The rest of his body was merely bruised. "I think you may have been left when you got hurt, Hank. That sounds right."

"And then I wandered off from wherever I was healing without remembering what I was doing?" Doubt filled the Ranger's tones, but it did sound plausible. In fact, it was the best explanation he'd had in six years. He'd been injured, probably from his bow malfunctioning, and had to be left behind. With no memory of anything from before he'd wandered off into that field and passed out. Later, when he woke up, it had been as if a new life had begun for him.

Hank sighed and shook his head. "I don't think I was hurt when I woke up, though."

"Oh, that's probably because you'd healed first then wandered out of the building and got yourself lost. The memory loss could have been delayed or continuing until the point where you start remembering." Timothy tested his leg by bending it slightly. He winced. It wasn't so bad.

Standing, Hank reached a hand down to aid his friend. The more they discussed this theory the less plausible it sounded; however, Hank wasn't going to worry about it. He'd spent six years without a past. He could live a bit longer without one. Instead he wanted to get Timothy to that town and some real medical treatment. His own skills were adequate for the road, but they were nothing compared to a trained physician. "Can you walk?"

Timothy eased his weight onto the injured leg and nodded, wincing again. "Slowly, but I should be okay." He looked at Hank. "I. . ."

Lifting a hand to stop Timothy's words, whatever they might be, Hank gave him a nod. "I'll get the packs and we can get going. That town should be up the road a short way?"

"Yeah," Timothy gestured in the proper direction. "We could have been there by noon, but now I think it'll be dark by the time we get there."

Hank shouldered both packs. "It's a nice day. It'll be a nice night if my weather sense holds true." He eyed the sky with its four suns and softly rolling sparse clouds. "And if we were heroes last time we were there, maybe we'll get a friendly welcome this time, too."

xxx

The sound of carts broke through their conversation as the two travelers strode down the rutted dirt roadway. Hank had been hearing the rumbling drone for some time, but now he could identify it as several heavy wagons pulled by oxen and heavy draft horses. With care he gripped Timothy's arm and eased him from the road, well back of the possibly precarious animals approaching.

Timothy thankfully leaned on Hank, easing his weight from his injured leg. They'd been walking slowly for hours and his leg throbbed. He suspected the gash had opened and reopened several times along the way but hadn't wanted to mention it. He was a Knight and he would prove his worth: a Knight did not complain of such paltry wounds, even if said wounds hurt like hell.

Soon a train of wagons and carts rumbled into view. None were like the others, all were pulled by heavy animals, and many were closed. There were voices coming from inside the train: shouts and pleadings and wails. Orcs, large brutish green-skinned creatures in hide armor, accompanied the wagon train. They whipped the abused beasts, yelling at the dumb animals for their exhaustion and hunger. Not a single Orc heeded the voices of the living cargo, nor did they seem to notice the two humans to the side of the road.

Hank pulled back into the bushes for more protection, dragging Timothy with him. Neither man made a move to hinder the Orcs or aid the people in the carts. They knew instinctively that they would never be able to do enough before they were taken prisoner or killed. It galled Hank to let the opportunity slip by, but he was a practical man.

Once the line of wagons heaved past Hank let out a frustrated sigh. He stepped from the bushes, glancing back at Timothy to make sure he was okay. Pausing, Hank could swear he'd seen something on the roadway. Almost casually he turned his head to look back at the dirt track. There it was again: a puff of dust stirred up where no breeze blew. With a frown he stepped to the side of the road, gripping his bow tightly.

The sudden appearance of a red-haired woman in brown skirts and lavender cloak brought Hank up short. He blinked, his eyes widening at the sight. Letting his eyes rove over her form, he took in the leather boots, small dagger, and loose waist-length hair. Finally he rested light blue eyes on grey ones.

She let her hands drop from the hood of the cloak and a smile broke onto her face. With a gasp, she threw herself at Hank, who encircled her in his arms instinctively. Her arms came around him in a fierce hug, and she said "I thought to never see you again, Hank!"

"Sheila?" Hank's voice was confused, hopeful, as he placed the name of his former red-haired companion with this pretty stranger. Sheila had used an Invisibility Cloak, after all, and this woman had it. Her next words disabused Hank of the notion he'd found one of his companions.

"No, Varla." She pulled back and moved her hands to grip his arms. "You probably don't remember me. I spoke to Presto more than any of you." She smiled and squeezed his arms gently. "But it is good to see you, Hank. It's been years! We were just children then."

Timothy cleared his throat, a smile playing over his freckled face. In the last three months women of all ages had shown interest in the handsome Ranger. The funny thing was that Hank had never shown interest in any of them. Clearing his throat again, the Knight said "I'm Sir Timothy. Hank's companion."

Varla turned, offering a shy smile to the younger Knight. "Hello, Sir. I _am_ happy to meet you." Turning back to Hank, she squeezed his arms once more. "Hank, I need your help. Sheila's been taken prisoner."

"Sheila?" Hank repeated. He shook his head, a soft frown crossing his face. Then he realized: this woman knew him from his old life. And she had said one of his old friends, Sheila, was a prisoner. Straightening, his voice taking on a stern no-nonsense quality, Hank asked "who took her? Where is she?"

The redhead removed her hands, turning and gesturing up the road they'd been following. "The Orcs have her. They work for King Varen but he works for someone stronger." She looked at Hank. "They're taking her to the Wall of Souls. It's where anyone takes their prisoners now that he is starting to build his power."

"He?" Timothy frowned. "He who?" He shifted his tarnished shield to a better position on his bruised arm, shifted his foot and lifting his weight off the injured leg a bit more.

Varla looked at Timothy and her face grew fierce. "I don't know his name. Ever since Venger stopped terrorizing everyone this man started taking control. We've been trying to find his weakness, his plans. I can only hope what we did get will be enough."

Hank whistled low echoed by Timothy. The names held no meaning for the Ranger, but the threat was all too clear. "What's the Wall of Souls?" He might not be able to fight this nameless guy, but he could try to rescue Sheila.

"It's where they either kill a prisoner or make him undead." Varla's voice was soft with the horror of which she spoke.

A shudder rocked Timothy's frame, but Hank remained calm. "They weren't far ahead of us. We should get there before they can finish unloading the wagons. How far away is this Wall of Souls?"

"Two hours," both Timothy and Varla answered. Glancing at one another, Timothy bowed his head, allowing Varla to speak.

"Two hours, roughly. Longer if you have loaded wagons and tired beasts." Her grim tone was satisfied at the delay for the Orcs.

Hank nodded and looked up the road. In a decisive voice he said "alright. Let's go save Sheila."

The trio turned and strode resolutely up the road, following in the dust of the prisoner train for the damned.

xxx

As Hank, Varla, and Sir Timothy trudged over the darkening terrain, they watchfully scanned the surrounding trees and brush. All three were on edge, still following the Orc caravan. The added knowledge that one of their own was being brought to face her death had destroyed any chance of a happy mood.

A rustling in the undergrowth drew Hank from his dark musings. Instantly alert the Ranger glanced towards his companions, noting that the younger Knight had his short sword drawn and was looking around just as cautiously. Varla was lifting the hood on her borrowed cloak, disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared to them hours before. It was an eerie sight. Sir Timothy met Hank's eyes and, with a silent nod, Hank brought his hand to the invisible energy string of his bow, taking the chance that it might surge again. He did not nock an arrow yet, not wanting the sudden tell-tale golden energy signature to alert whoever was in those bushes.

Gesturing silently with his head, Hank was grimly satisfied to see the eighteen year old give an answering nod of consent and softly limp towards the noise. Hank raised his bow, watching intently. Timothy had to move quite slowly in order not to make any undue noise. As he moved, the travelers kept a wary ear out for changes to the noise in the bushes, but, despite being fully on alert, they were totally surprised by a large figure bursting forth without warning.

It leapt clear over Sir Timothy and bounded in a rush to the stunned Ranger, where it once more gathered itself and leapt. Instead of sailing over Hank, however, the huge gray and brown bullet-or was it tank-landed with paws squarely on Hank's chest, sending the twenty-four year old to his back, bow still clutched firmly in his fist. A tongue busily washed Hank's face before he finally could respond. Varla lowered her hood, an arm wrapping around her middle as she chuckled. Her long hair was tangled around her lithe frame, drawing Timothy's inadvertent gaze.

"Whoa!" Hank brought up his free hand to try to protect his face from the over-eager greeting. It took a moment more for his mind to catch up to his body and he suddenly realized that it was a large, bedraggled dog that was attacking him with such happy welcome. The Ranger let himself relax, though never releasing his weapon, and laughed softly as he continually tried to ward off the enthusiastic canine. "Whoa, boy. Get down. Enough."

With a happy bark the dog scooted back and sank to his haunches. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, drool running down. His fur was matted and dirty, his frame lean from missed meals and living on the run. Whatever this dog was it was _not_ well cared for.

Hank sat up and touched the stray's head, noting there was old blood matted into the fur. "What's your name, Boy?" He ran his fingers down the dog's neck, finding a collar tangled with fur and brambles. Working for some minutes, Hank finally got the dog's tag free and studied it. He could make out only part of the word: F R and what could be an I, L, or part of another letter. Cocking his head to the side, studying the large beast, the Ranger gave a soft chuckle. "Can't read the tag but it starts with F and R."

Varla had stopped laughing and now squatted next to the grounded pair. She reached a slender hand over to brush the dog's head and neck. "Good boy. F R? That could be for near anything."

"Frank?" Timothy offered.

Shaking her head, Varla stroked the dog's fur again. "Maybe. Freedom?"

Hank chuckled. "Well, those are two very nice virtues, but maybe not canine enough?" He ruffled the dog's neck ruff and grinned. "I know. We'll call him Fritz."

The dog barked and spun around in a frenzied circle.

"Fritz it is." Hank eased to his feet and brushed himself off. "I know we shouldn't let him tag along," he lifted a slight frown to his friends, "but I'd hate to leave him alone. There's blood in his fur. He must've been hit."

The redhead slid her arms around the scruffy mutt and gave him a gentle hug. "Of course we won't leave him." She smiled up at Hank and his heart seemed to flip. "He'd starve out here. I think together we can managed to feed the poor thing."

Hank grinned, pushing back the odd feelings, and offered a hand to Varla to help her straighten. Fritz yelped happily, bounding around the trio in enthusiasm. Timothy nodded, frowning a bit, but not arguing their newest addition.

Rather, he softly said "I hope there's more to him than a dirty fur coat."

As if sensing his worth hung in the balance, Fritz stopped bouncing around. He straightened with what could be called dignity in a dog. With a single bark, he began sniffing the road as if tracking something. As he was going the way they were, nobody protested and he was permitted to lead them towards the Wall of Souls.

Continued in Chapter twenty-four: The Return


	23. The Return

Title: The Return

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 23 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Mild language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Terri- 18; Eric- 24; Uni 19 (Elfish), but 9 (unicorn)

Summary: Terri arrives, but she hadn't planned beyond that.

Note: In Bobby's last chapter: "Prophet of Doom, Bringer of Hope", I accidentally listed the amount of time since the Ranger had been in the village as three _solar_ cycles (years). It was, in reality, three _lunar_ cycles (months). Thank you for my sharp-eyed reviewer who caught that and told me privately. I appreciate the help!

Secondary Note: Recall that for Terri and Bobby, who returned to 1983, it has been 8 years. Bobby left the Realm in 1986, which means that it's been almost 6 years for everyone else. Thanks.

Movie reference: _Lost Boys_ by Joel Shumacher.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

As the roar of the dimensional wind died down, so did the waves of heat and cold. Terri still had her locket clasped firmly in her trembling fingers and her eyes squeezed shut. She was afraid to look, dreading the sight-the knowledge-the confirmation that she had indeed returned to a place that had haunted her nightmares for eight years. It was a very long moment before the girl shook off her fear. Bobby needed her. Besides, the Realm was too dangerous to simply sit in an unfamiliar locale and allow oneself to be an easy target.

Terri open denim blue eyes, looking around at the skeletal dragon remains surrounding her, trailing as far as the eye could see in any direction. Her hand flew to her mouth, smothering a shrill scream. Unable to fight the instinct, the eighteen year old squeezed her eyes shut once more. Her body trembled violently and she was afraid she would go mad. Coming back had been a horrible idea.

A sob rose in her throat but she fought it. With another shudder, Terri opened her eyes, straightening her back. So, she was frightened; she felt helpless and weak. That didn't mean she couldn't at least put on a brave front. It was like working with a dog-hide your fear and take control and everything would be fine.

She shifted, accidentally knocking into a smaller skeleton. The clattering and grating noises of the collapsing bones surrounded her and blind fear overcome her once more. Yeah right everything would be all right. Who was she kidding? Terri curled into as small a ball as she could, sobbing, her body shaking violently.

A gentle touch made her jump but the accompanying voice quietly soothed the young woman's tears. "Be at ease, Young One."

That voice-Terri lifted her head, eyes taking in the sight of the small, ancient being called Dungeon Master. Without thought, the dark-haired teen thankfully threw her arms around the elderly man's thick waist. "Oh! Oh, am I glad you're here!" She began the difficult task of stifling her tears.

With an age-old smile the Dungeon Master stroked her head again. "Ah, but I am glad _you_ are here, Dreamer. Now the beginning can finally conclude."

"Beginning?" Terri frowned, pushing back away from the old mage. Memory washed over her, driving back the fear and confusion, replacing it with intense worry for the young man she'd followed to this place of horrors. "Bobby! Bobby came back. Is he all right?"

"The Barbarian made his journey without event, Dreamer. He has even found some old friends and journeys with them." The man smiled his wise, old smile as Terri relaxed a bit. Before she could ask anything else Dungeon Master began his own request. "You have much to do, Young One. The enemy is aware that the resurgence of the _Children of Power_ can hinder his plans. He has not yet felt the true force that is gathering against him. However, his greatest ally is within his reach. It is only a matter of time before his strength will reach its peak.

Terri shuddered, eyes widening. "So soon? How can anyone get together enough people to fight him that quickly?" She paused, her denim colored eyes roving over the horrible landscape around them. There seemed to be no living beings anywhere; she could only see crumbled skeletons from humanoid beings to massive sets of bones that could house a Boeing 747. She shuddered to think of those massive beasts alive and hungry.

"When you know your enemy, your friends will become evident. Things are no longer as they once were. You left before the time of changing." Dungeon Master looked serene.

Lifting a shaking hand, running her fingers over her mouth and her palm upwards, she brushed sweat from her pale face. Terri drew her eyes from the landscape and looked at Dungeon Master. "How can I help?" Her voice was a mere whisper and she sounded troubled.

Dungeon Master turned gentle old eyes on the determined girl. "The enemy needs to be armed as do the Young Ones. There is a Young One armed with what the enemy needs. That Young One must be protected and must not fall into the hands of the enemy or all is lost. You need to arm the rest and tell them to protect the one. The war will rise around the one."

"But how can a group of kids stop a war, Dungeon Master?" Terri dropped her hand to grasp her locket. She leaned towards the man. His riddles confused her, but she understood that the enemy wanted one of the Young Ones' weapons. The real problem wasn't saving the Young Ones but saving the world. "Isn't asking them to fight an army a bit much this time?"

Laying a gentle hand on the teen's head, his light teal eyes smiled down into her denim blue ones. "A debt of gratitude and friendship is more powerful than the greatest monetary award-or the greatest of threats. Those who follow will aid the Young Ones."

Golden light radiated from Terri's clasped hand and her eyes widened, the blue blurring and changing to a bright golden luminescence. The faint howling of wind over the barren bone yard faded.

_Harsh screams, the shriek of metal scraped across metal, flashes of color spotted the valley below, sunlight glinted off armor and weapons. A golden arrow of pure energy sailed from overhead to land among a group of Goblin archers. The flash from the Goblins followed screams and anarchy. A burly Orc roared at his panicking archers, trying to bring control to the small group. Smiling widely, the pale-skinned man approached, coming closer, wrapped in the foul stench of decay. Terri screamed and curled into a ball; she turned her head, her hands shooting up protectively over her face. From above her, a steady voice, calm amid the chaos, spoke in a fierce tone "Ask me for help-"_

The image disappeared and Terri collapsed to the ground, her entire body shaking in the aftermath of the vision. Her eyes were blue again; her locket lay quietly, shining a muted metallic gold against her throat. The eighteen year old slowly became aware that Dungeon Master petted her hair with a gentle old hand. Long minutes passed before she asked in a shaking voice, "what happened?"

"What do you think happened, Dreamer?"

Terri shook her head, a frown crossing her face. "Dreamer? I haven't dreamed the future since I left the realm-and I didn't fall asleep just now."

Dungeon Master reached over and gently picked up her golden locket. He lifted it, studying the delicate heart. Without lifting his eyes, he softly said "your dreams will no longer tell the future, Young One." He let the locket fall back to her throat and gave her a gentle smile. "You have grown much-as has your power. It has stretched beyond the limits of darkness and starlight."

The girl pushed from the ground, rising quickly on unsteady feet. She backed away from the old mage, shaking her head and wailing, "I can't do this alone!"

"Oh, but you won't be alone, Young One." Dungeon Master's voice was soothing, reaching through her fear to stop her retreat, though her face still showed her fears. "All things have a purpose, Young One, including your presence here." He pointed one gnarled finger at the teen then gestured around the bone yard with his hand.

Terri gulped, shaking her head. "But how can I protect myself? I don't have any weapons-at least no real weapons. All I have is this stupid locket that glows when I dream-"

A gentle laugh rolled over Terri, Dungeon Master's soft response doing more to calm her fears than all his words previously. He swept both hands wide and flicked his fingers to indicate even further. "You will find what-and who-you need in the heart of the Dragons' Graveyard."

She sighed and sank back down amid the destroyed bones of some ancient humanoids, turning her eyes up to the mage, pleading. Her voice sounded tiny in the vast expanse. "I don't understand, Dungeon Master."

He smiled. "You will, Dreamer. Simply follow your heart." He stroked a finger over her locket, flicking it open to reveal the two pictures. After a moment he slowly closed the locket and carefully, gently, lowered it.

Terri looked down, wonder widening her eyes. She picked the locket up, warm from her skin, and opened it. She looked longingly at Bobby's picture. Softly she said, "oh!" For the first time since arriving, Terri felt strength well inside her. She asked, just as softly, "but, Dungeon Master, how can I find him?"

No answer came to her. She looked up then around. She was alone, sitting in the middle of a bone yard, only the echo of the wind answering her question.

xxx

Picking her way around bones and through scattered debris, Terri carefully scanned the ground, the horizon, the hulking skeletons. She was beginning to feel calmer, though loneliness trembled through her again and again. Unsure just what she was looking for, wary of enemies, the teen continued her trek across the desolate bone yard. She wondered just how far she'd gone in the last hour and how much longer before she got out of this horrible place.

Slowly she realized she was thirsty.

Now she added another thing to the list of what she was looking out for. The water here would probably by stagnant, but it would be something. She had no idea how long it would take to get to a habitable area so any water she found, short of toxic, would have to do. Terri had never been much of a Girl Scout; she'd dropped out after only a couple of years. She delved into her memory for any survival lore that may have remained from that all too brief period.

She came upon an area that looked battle torn. Great gashes seared the ground and a long crack rent in the earth lent an air of hellish danger to the scene. Bones were scattered, crushed, and burnt from whatever horrible clash had happened. Terri wrapped her arms around herself, and her entire body shuddered.

The glint of something silvery under some displaced bones drew her. Water? She walked over to the sparkle of silver and crouched down. Her hand touched the first bone and she repressed a shudder. Quickly she picked the bone up and moved it over a few inches. After only a few bones Terri realized that she hadn't found water; she'd found a silvery unicorn horn.

Horror sent Terri scuttling backwards onto her butt. A hand flew to her mouth as she stared at the evidence of a unicorn's death. All she could think about was the baby unicorn Bobby had loved so well. Had this been her fate? Was the only thing left of Uni a horn and some painted wallpaper? Terri sobbed and reached reverently for the horn.

It was smooth to the touch. She wrapped her fingers around the spiraled horn. Lightweight, too. Picking it up, Terri looked around for the skeleton that would go with the horn. She could at least put the pair together, even if she didn't have the ability to bury. . . with a shake of her head, Terri stood. There didn't seem to be any horse remains anywhere.

Turning, a frown formed on Terri's face. The only skeletons appeared to be dragons or dinosaurs. Those and the humanoid things, but they, too, had a distinctly dragonish look to them. The sight only confirmed her suspicions of where she was. More pressing, aside from water, was how she would escape. How had Bobby said they'd gotten out?

For once, Terry wished she'd read those notebooks of Bobby's. Those books held every scrap of important information she could ever want about the Realm: enemies, allies, terrain, _Weapons of Power_-

"Bobby!" Terri's hand covered her scream, muffling it, as her other hand clenched around the unicorn's horn. That's what Dungeon Master meant! Desperation, different than the last hour, filled the teen and she looked around with wild denim blue eyes.

Her gaze fell on a rod with a ball and chain attached. The weapon was only a little way from a huge curved bone horn. A large sword lay half-buried in the ground just beyond. Weapons! She knew she had to find Bobby and the other Young Ones but some of them didn't have weapons. Sheila and Eric would need to be able to fight. If what she'd realized was true they would all need to fight-even her. Terri spun in a circle and spotted another weapon: a trident. Hurrying to collect the three-point shaft, her eyes fell on something else entirely.

A net. Bobby had mentioned a net saving Uni's life once before. Could this small silvery square be the same Weapon of Power he'd talked about? Absently adding the trident to her armload, Terri moved to the net and reached for it expectantly. With a frown, she stood up, the net limp in her grasp. It didn't feel special. It wasn't as heavy as it looked, but it felt like what it was: soft rope woven and edged until it formed a useful tool for carrying things. With a sigh, Terri wrapped the flail, sword, trident, and horn into the net, not excluding anything as a possible aid. She scooped up a wand and slid it in with the rest of the weapons.

She pushed the unicorn's horn-what had Bobby called it? An alicorn?-at her jeans pocket but missed. Brow creasing, Terri looked down and her body stilled in shock. She wasn't in her jeans and T-shirt. Lifting her arms, the eighteen year old looked over the light blue belted tunic and the darker blue leather breeches complete with tan boots. When had her outfit changed?

The sound of voices forced out all questions of wardrobe and Terri looked around for a place to hide. She spotted one of those larger skeletons quite close. Wrapping her arms securely around the bundle of weapons, alicorn gripped tightly in one hand, she sprinted to the skeleton and slipped behind the towering hipbone.

As she tried to calm her breathing, a trick she'd seen Bobby practice occasionally, she peeked around the huge calcium structure. Had the enemy sent his minions to loot the graveyard of weapons? Indignation surged. How dare anyone desecrate-she had to cut that thought off. Hadn't she just been doing the same thing: desecrating a graveyard for weapons? Terri felt sick to her stomach but refused to drop the weapons she'd already collected. Her friends needed them.

The steady baritone voice of a man came to her, but he had to be talking to someone else. Why now when she'd finally figured out how to help? She'd taken so long understanding Dungeon Master's cryptic remarks about finding what she'd need here. And now someone else was coming and would keep her from the weapons. Tears, of anger this time, welled up and she blinked rapidly to clear them.

She had no idea what would happen, but she'd take the chance. If these guys made a move towards any of the _Weapons of Power_, Terry would fight them-to the death. It would be no less serious in the war that was coming; she couldn't do anything else if she wanted to help the _Children of Power_.

Terri took another breath and raised the alicorn.

xxx

"How was I supposed to know that door would open into some sort of tele-portal?' The habitual whine from his youth was gone but the indignation and self-righteousness was very evident at the moment. The Cavalier had been ranting about their unexpected teleport for a good five minutes already.

Uni couldn't help snickering, flipping her long red hair from her oddly colored maroon eyes.

"What are you laughing at?" He frowned in perturbation. "You could have easily made the same mistake, you know. It's not like you can see on the other side of doors or something. Heck, you can't even-" at the sudden emotion flickering over the teen's face the man fell silent.

"I-" Uni sighed and stamped the ground impatiently never having seemed to lose some of her rather horsy habits. "I laughed-at the _word_, Airk. Tele-portal." Looking up at her companion she tried a grin, deliberately breaking the word to show what she found so funny.

Eric's mouth opened then closed and opened once more. Finally it seemed to sink in and he laughed loudly. "Yeah-I guess that was kind of funny, huh?" True, it probably didn't deserve as much amusement as the pair showed, but, hey, anything was better than the silence that seemed to fall over them all too often recently.

Harmony had been temporarily restored, and Uni thankfully grasped onto it. "Myeah." She was about to comment again, trying to keep the companionship going, when she became aware of the sound of bones shifting. Looking around for the first time since the teleport she became really aware of their surroundings. This was a place that she hadn't seen since she'd been a baby-and it didn't hold overly fond memories for her. "Airk!"

"What?" He glanced at her, frowning at the odd note in her voice. Seeing her fearfully rolling eyes, Eric raised his shield, pulling her against his side in a habitual protective gesture. He took in the sight of the bone-strewn ground-the chopped earth-the former carnage. "The Dragons' Graveyard!"

Eric didn't have overly fond memories of this place any more than Uni, but at least he hadn't been on the verge of death while he'd been here. Not releasing the nineteen year old from his side, Eric looked around warily. He didn't like the idea of accidentally disturbing Tiamat's sleep, either. That five-headed dragon had been angry as a badger the last time they'd waken her up. They'd been lucky Hank had convinced her to give them the information they'd needed rather than kill them all.

Carefully, he took a step backwards. "We should go back through that door-"

"Wait!"

He raised his shield again, spine stiffening, legs set. This time he pushed Uni behind him. Scanning the bone yard for the owner of that voice, he prepared to fight.

A dark-haired teen in blue ran towards them, stumbling over some bones in her way. She had an armload of something and a pack slung on her back. Her booted feet echoed just as her voice did. She'd wake Tiamat with that noise!

Letting go of the woman beside him, Eric bolted pell-mell for the approaching female. He waved his hands and tried to shush her. As he approached, the girl did what could only be called a double-take. She stopped, a look of doubt and horror on her face, and started backing up.

Risking it, Eric called, "don't wake the dragon!"

She stopped, frozen like a deer in a spotlight.

Thankfully Eric slowed his pace to quiet his own armor as he moved. In a calm voice, hands raised to show he only carried the shield and no sword, he moved towards the teenager. "My name's. . ."

"Eric." The girl smiled and walked towards him, still burdened.

Why she didn't put that stuff in her pack was beyond him, but Eric didn't point out the obvious. He had questions. "How'd you know that?" He couldn't keep the distrust from his voice. After meeting up with that-thing-Eric was too cautious of anyone knowing too much.

With a laugh that sounded halfway of relief and halfway of trepidation, the teen gave a small shrug then hurriedly tried to reposition her bundle. "Because you're the Cavalier, Eric Montgomery. I. . ."

His head snapped back as if she'd slapped him. His voice harsh with anger, covering his sudden fear, he ground out, "and how do you know that? Who are you?" He stopped walking, lifting his shield.

A gentle hand on his arm startled him and he briefly looked at the his red-haired companion. She smiled up into his brown eyes, her maroon ones holding no fear this time. Together, they looked at the teen.

Uni's voice was soft as she tried the unfamiliar word: "Terr-ee."

"Terri?" Eric looked over the girl in surprise. Now that it had been pointed out, he could see it. "But-you went home! I saw it. We had to destroy that stupid portal so you could get home." He lowered his shield and ran a tanned hand through his longish black hair; it had grown without Presto there to trim it for him. "Why the hell are you back now?" He looked around briefly, following the glance with a wave of his free hand. "And here?"

The girl looked around then back at them. "I'll tell you but you said a dragon?"

Eric groaned. "Yeah. Tiamat lives here."

Her eyes opened wider, terror starting to fill them. Just what he needed: unreasonable fear. Not that Tiamat was an unreasonable fear but he needed the girl calm. Fortunately, he knew just the way to do it.

Taking the last steps forward, Eric took Terri's heavy bundle into his arms. "Let's talk while we move. You remember Uni, right?"

That was sufficient to draw her attention, the horror turning to confusion. "Uni? But Uni's a unicorn."

Uni nodded. "I was magic-cast spell-"

The Cavalier grinned softly. "About six years ago we all got split up. The spell that split us up made Uni a-" he looked at the redhead and frowned, studying her tipped ears, pale skin, and willowy figure. "Uh, Uni, are you supposed to be a human?" Embarrassment tinged his cheeks pink; he'd never thought to ask.

She shook her head, long hair flying about at the movement. "No. Elf."

"Elf?" Terri's and Eric's voices join in surprised.

Once more Uni nodded. "Elf. A curse."

"Hey," Eric soothed in his soft baritone, "being an Elf isn't a curse. I think it's kinda cool."

Amusement warred with annoyance as Uni looked at the older man. She shook her head again. "I'm Unicorn, Airk, not Elf!"

"Sshhh. . ." Eric instinctively looked around, worried about waking the sleeping dragon.

Terri asked, "this spell that split you guys up cursed you?"

Eric nodded emphatically, his voice curt as he said, "I'll say." Then realization dawn and he looked at Uni with wide brown eyes. "Oh-I'm," he flushed again and lowered his voice, "I'm sorry, Uni. I guess I forgot that you wouldn't _like_ being-um-an Elf."

He cleared his throat and looked back at Terri, wondering why he'd never really considered just how much Uni had lost going through that spell. Sure, she'd had to relearn walking and talking and stuff. She'd even had to put up with puberty in a humanlike body. But Eric hadn't realized that to Uni the change would be worse than his vertigo. While he'd lost his sense of balance, Uni had lost her entire self. Sometimes he felt much younger than his twenty-four years.

"It was Bobby."

"Bobby?" Now it was Eric and Uni whose voices blended in surprise.

With a nod, Terri shifted the alicorn she held to her other left hand, wiping her right down her trousers. Uni's eyes settled on the bit of unicorn bone, and she paled further. Terri frowned and looked at the Elf in worry. "Um-Uni? Are you okay?"

Uni pointed to Terri's hand. "Alicorn-"

Terri glanced down and went equally pale. She nodded and held it out, a flush across her cheeks. "I couldn't find the rest of the unicorn. I was going to put them together. I forgot. . ."

"Give me-" Uni interrupted, holding out a slender hand imperiously. Her tone was gruffer than any Eric had heard her use yet.

He could hardly blame her. He supposed it was like seeing someone wave around a human thigh bone or skull.

Fortunatley, Terri complied, handing the alicorn to Uni without argument.

The former unicorn hefted the horn in her hand. Surprising her companions, she smiled and nodded. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft but steady.

"Do you want to bury it? I can help." Terri's offer sounded worried.

Eric reached for the horn, hoping to spare Uni more pain. The woman pulled her hand back and turned a determined smile up at the Cavalier.

"No." Voice firm, Uni shook her head. "The unicorn is long dead. This is a _Weapon of Power_ now. I want it." Her face creased in a frown and she shook her head. "No-I. . ."

Catching on, Eric jumped in, "you're going to use it now. It's fitting, Uni." At Terri's horrified look Eric explained "A unicorn would know how best to use an Alicorn, wouldn't she? And she'd use it for good."

Terri blinked and looked back at Uni. "Oh. Oh! Weapons." She turned to the bundle Eric held. "Dungeon Master said the _Children of Power_ need weapons to protect one. One of the Children has a weapon the enemy needs." She looked up at Eric. "I think I know who he's after."

Straightening, knowing the Dungeon Master had finally given him his task, albeit in a roundabout way, Eric hefted the weapon bundle to a more secure hold in his arms. "Who do we have to protect?"

The brunette looked from Eric to Uni and back. In a soft voice, filled with worry, she said "Bobby."

xxx

"Well, I can see why you think it's Bobby. Give me your pack." Eric shifted his body forward seated on the large boney spine of some long-dead beast. He reached out a hand for the backpack.

Terri looked confused then realized what he said. Almost in wonder, she slid the leather pack from her shoulder. "I hadn't realized I had this," she said.

Eric took the pack and opened it, absently noting that it was empty. He carefully untangled the weapons from the magical net. "So, the enemy wants Bobby and we've got to get the others together so we can protect him." He began to fold the net carefully. "He could have stayed back on Earth where he was safe, but he wanted to come back here to protect Sheila. Now the big bad guy knows he's back and everyone's scattered to the four corners of this god-forsaken world and we," he gestured to himself then the others, "have to track them down, convince them to leave whatever it is they've been doing with themselves for six years, and rush off to save a guy who should've stayed where he'd been sent to begin with." Eric slipped the net into the backpack and offered it back to Terri. "Easy as cake." Sarcasm reverberated through his voice.

Anger sparked in Terri's eyes at Eric's off-hand manner, but she was surprised to see Uni place a hand on the man's arm and smile up at him gently.

"Not cake-" Uni's voice was soft but sure, "pie."

A soft laugh escaped the Cavalier and he laid a hand over Uni's, turning a smile down on the pretty Elf. "But I never liked pie as much as cake." His voice had turned playful.

Terri pushed the pack away from herself. "I don't get it."

Uni turned her smile to Terri and noticed the pack Eric still held out to the teen. The redhead reached over and took it instead. "Eric's been in-im-uh," she stumbled verbally and frowned.

Coming to her rescue, Eric explained, "when DM sent us out he forgot to tell us what we had to do. We've been wandering around to some of the old haunts trying to see if he'd show up. Until now. Now. . ." he picked up the large sword and nodded to Uni.

She seemed to understand the wordless message because she got up and moved behind him, taking the heavy sword with both hands. Carefully the woman began to tie the sword to Eric's back under his cloak.

He continued speaking. "Now we know what we're supposed to do." He picked up the trident and hefted it but was wise enough not to point it at anything. He remembered last time all too vividly: this weapon was a _Trident of Electricity_, and it packed one hell of a punch.

"What do you mean?" Terri reached for the flail, just to be doing something. Eric seemed so different, so sure of himself. He'd grown up in the last years.

Eric turned his eyes to Terri and shrugged. "We've got to get these weapons to the others so we can save Bobby's bacon from the fire and keep you safe."

"Keep _me_ safe?" Terri frowned. She didn't argue; she'd never been a fighter, but it still rankled that he felt she needed protecting.

Seeing her bitterness, Eric chuckled and gave a smile to Uni as she came back around him. He gestured for her to give him her back. When she sat before him, his sure fingers began strapping the trident to her back. "Sure. You know what Bobby does. It may be you the baddie's after not him."

Terri's eyes widened and she went pale. "Me?"

The smile flew from Eric's face and he stopped working with the trident. "Hey, Terri, get a grip girl!" He looked her over. "I don't want to lug you around like some stupid storybook knight."

She gulped and nodded, dropping the flail and rubbing her hands on her trousers. "I don't know everything Bobby wrote, though." Her voice started small but gained confidence as she noticed Eric's quick smile of approval. She realized he had been using his sarcastic humor to make her indignant and break her fear. It had definitely worked. "I only know a little bit. I know about the lists but not everything on them."

"That means the target-will be Bobby," Uni sighed. She gave a glare over her shoulder to Eric. "Airk!"

He blinked and nodded, "Sorry, Uni." He began tying the weapon up once more. "So, we know who the target is. Do we know where they're going to be?"

Terri shook her head then stopped. Her vision flashed through her mind. "Yes. It's pretty barren and high on a hill. There's this fort at the top. Next to the fort is a low building with lots of barred windows. The hill is covered," she shuddered, "with faces." She looked at them. "But I couldn't see much more. The valley below was covered in a huge battle and some creepy vampire guy was coming for me."

"Vampire guy?" Eric stiffened, fingers stilling once more.

Uni turned her head slowly to look at Terri, maroon eyes wide in her pale, delicate face. "But during the day?"

Terri shrugged. "Yeah, it was daylight." She turned her concerned gaze on first Uni then Eric. "Whoa! I didn't say he was a Vampire. I meant he reminded me of one of those guys in _Lost Boys_."

"Lost boys?"

"Peter Pan?"

Frowning, Terri answered Eric first. "Not those kind of lost boys. I mean the movie _Lost Boys_. The one about the vampires in California who are trying to take over the entire town of Santa Monica?" At their blank stares she sighed and shook her head. "Right, you never saw it. These guys look normal but something about them screams evil, right?"

Eric finished tying the trident onto Uni's back and reached for the large spiral horn. "Terri, turn around."

She turned, knowing she'd have to bear some of the load. She felt his fingers strapping the large curved ivory to her shoulder and waist with some strips of left over leather and cloth they'd found lying around among the bones. At least the horn wasn't heavy just large. "What I mean is, I saw this creepy guy coming for me and the vision ended. I only saw a brief glimpse of the place."

"Well," Eric's voice was nonchalant, "it's not familiar. We'll have to ask the first reasonable people we see." Looking around, Eric patted Terri's shoulder to indicate he'd finished and turned to pick up the flail. "Once we can find a way out of here, that is." The Cavalier stood and tucked the rod of the flail into his wide belt, making sure it was balanced so he wouldn't lose it. He slid the wand into the backpack on the ground.

Uni and Terri got to their feet, Uni flinging the pack over one shoulder, careful of the trident on her back. "I can do it."

Terri shook her head, reaching for the pack. "No, let me. This horn doesn't weigh much." She grabbed it and Uni let it go without struggle.

"I mean-" she shook her head, hair swishing, "I can take us from here."

"How?" Terri looked surprised, sliding the pack carefully on her own shoulder.

Eric frowned and shook his head. "Uni, I don't think Elves teleport. Unicorns, yes, but Elves?"

With a smile Uni held up the alicorn. "I've got a horn."

The dark-haired man chuckled. "Uni, that thing is a whip. Remember? It was used last time."

Uni smiled wider. "Oh, Airk, silly man." She chuckled in turn at Eric's indignant look. "That was when a dragon had it. A unicorn holds it now. All unicorns teleport with an alicorn." Her words were slow and calm.

Eric and Terri turned wondering eyes on the alicorn, but Eric shook that wonder off. Could she be right? Eric was used to having to look out for the former unicorn. He'd taught her what he could; she'd grown up so much. But that education, that growth, hadn't included anything unicorn. How could it? Eric knew nothing about being a unicorn. Sometimes he wondered if he knew so much about being a man.

Defiance lighting her amused maroon eyes, Uni lifted the alicorn. In deference to Eric she aimed it straight up and not at someone. Closing her eyes, she said "hold on or get left." The others grabbed her arms, and Uni nodded once. Concentrating, she began to envision a safe place, one where they could go for their information and some help.

A silvery light showered down on the trio, glowing brighter, warming then. As the brightness enveloped them, Uni opened her eyes. They glowed a bright silver, in harmony with the _Weapon of Power_ she wielded. Through the glow, Uni saw the massive shape of a five-headed dragon watching them. The light flared and faded; the trio was gone.

Tiamat shifted back, her wings riffling in the warm breeze left from the teleport. Her eyes narrowed to ten glowing slits as she contemplated all she'd heard. Finally, when all trace of light and warmth were gone, the dragon turned and shambled back into her cave made from the eye socket of a dragon far larger than she could ever hope to be.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Four: Wall of Souls


	24. Wall of Souls

Title: Wall of Souls

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 24 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence, sexual innuendoes, undead

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Sheila- 23; Eliavah- adult; Raevonn- adult; Raun- adult

Summary: Sheila meets her fate and finds a new purpose.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

The roar of noise hurt her ears. Every nerve ending seared and her head throbbed as her mind tried to sort through the once long-still cacophony of sounds. Sheila kept her eyes closed, a hand pressed firmly to her lips to keep back the nausea the sudden onslaught of noise brought. All these years she'd hoped to get her hearing back, but she'd never dreamed it would be this painful, this overwhelming. Minutes slid together as the Thief lay trying to orient herself.

Her nausea started to dissipate as her brain began to filter out the individual sounds. People walked and shifted, their boots heavy, their mail clanking. One particular voice sounded just above her. She had trouble identifying all the words but understood some.

"- hell-she?-she get-?-You-less-of pig! I-you- me not-some-my home!-her off the-she?- near me!-her in the-and-her to the-Eno-her!"

As he spoke, the man stomped back and forth. Sheila opened her eyes to try to see who'd captured her, though she didn't doubt it was King Varen she was hearing. The first voice in six years and it had to be his? The sight of the man's face, behind orangey mustache and side-swept hair, confirmed her suspicions. Sheila closed her eyes again.

Rough hands grasped her arms and waist, painfully hauling her to her feet. Sheila's eyes snapped open and she pushed an Orc's groping hand first from her breast than from her belly. She'd had no idea Orcs could even be interested _that way_ in humans.

Snapping her head sideways, waist-length hair sweeping out of her pale face, Sheila reached for the dagger at her waist. In one quick movement she pulled it from its sheath and sliced one of the offending hands. An Orc howled in pain. Her triumph was short lived as he slammed her in the side of the head with a huge fist. Sheila hit her knees, feeling a nauseating pain radiate from her cheek.

King Varen's voice halted the horrible onslaught. "-her!"

An Orc grabbed Sheila's dagger, getting cut for his efforts but refusing to relinquish his hold on the bone and steel weapon. Another Orc slammed a fist to the other side of her head, forcing her to loosen her grip. Pinpoints of white light swam in her vision as an Orc pushed her back to the cold flagstones defenseless. A trickle of blood dripped from a cut on the left side of her face.

The King took a long inhaled breath. "-you are-!"

The man knelt on the flagstones next to Sheila, nodding curtly once. Two Orcs grabbed her by the arms, holding her on her knees, twisting her to face him. A long moment passed, only the sound of harsh breathing audible.

Finally, King Varen's hand shot out and he grabbed Sheila's long red hair. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he ran his fingers through the tangle of flame-colored tresses. "-soft-." Slipping his hand from her hair to her chin, he firmly pressed underneath.

She raised her head, teal eyes hard with defiance.

A pleased grin spread across the older man's features. "-beauty." He gripped her chin and moved her face one way then another, studying her. "I-I know you."

Sheila's brain finally recalled how to translate the words, and she no longer had trouble understanding the man. She kept her expression neutral.

His hand tightened on her chin and lifted it. He smiled down at her, something lurking behind his eyes, taking away any semblance of gentleness. His eyes lit with unholy glee. "Ah! You stole my dragon treasure from me."

Her resolution to stay quiet failed as indignation swept through the woman. "It wasn't your treasure!" Her voice shook with anger, eyes flashing.

He chose to ignore her comment, stroking one finger down her cheek, caressing down her neck to her shoulder. Her brown dress was torn, exposing pale skin. His voice was a silken drawl as he asked "why are you here?"

"I got lost," she lied.

"How did you get in?" he lowered his voice to a purr.

"I climbed over the wall. I bruised me knee. You really should get it fixed." She was pleased by the calm in her own voice. Apparently they hadn't found her cloak or he wouldn't have asked. She didn't dare look around for the weapon in case it lay nearby; she didn't want to draw attention to it.

King Varen smiled wider as if the answer pleased him. "Who is with you?" He stroked her cheek and neck again.

Sheila ignored the churning hatred in her gut, the revulsion she felt as he petted her. She knew he was only trying to distract her which wasn't working. His touch was far from pleasurable: it was nauseating.

She had learned one thing from his questions, though: Varla had escaped. Sheila hoped her friend had taken the Invisibility Cloak with her. The Thief hated the idea that this loathsome excuse of a human had her Weapon of Power.

Her voice steady, Sheila again lied to her captor. "My two boyfriends. They're huge, and they'll get mad-"

With a laugh, the man stilled his hand on her shoulder. "So, you are alone-delightful. Then we may-" he let his eyes trail over her, and Sheila repressed a shudder. He laughed and continued, "negotiate your terms of release."

"Let me walk out of here, and I promise to never come back." Sheila flipped her head unconsciously, hair swinging over her shoulders, back, and hips. She preferred it tied up; it got in the way and tangled when it was loose.

The king licked his lips. "Oh, no-that's not possible. Prisoners are sent to the Wall of Souls to feel Master Eno." He ran a finger under the edge of her ripped sleeve. The Thief's eyes narrowed at the would-be-king; he repeated the stroke. "At great expense to me, I might add. So, my dear beauty, I would need a payment of equal value to change my mind." He stroked a third time.

Her eyes widened and she jerked out of his touch. She choked, "you're insane!"

He shook his head and cupped her chin once more, his other hand moved back to her shoulder. "Oh, no, my beauty. You heard me well enough. Either I send you to feed Master Eno or," he licked his lips and let his eyes roam down her body and back to her flashing teal eyes, "you bed me."

Sheila spat at him, missing but gaining satisfaction from his sudden anger. "Kill me!"

King Varen's hand curled into a fist and he slammed her across the face, splitting her wounded cheek further. Rising to his feet, the man kicked at the defenseless woman as she struggled against the Orcs holding her. Towering over her, he growled, "you heard her! Throw her on a cart and take her to the Wall!"

Varen followed, chortling viscously, as the Orcs pulled the woman to the courtyard. They thrust her into a high-walled wagon with small, barred windows and sturdy wooden sides. Two large bedraggled oxen stood placidly waiting in their traces. Stopping the Orcs from closing the wagon, Varen grabbed the door and leered at the young woman. Leaning close, his voice pitched low as if imparting a secret, the displaced ruler ground out, "you won't die, my beauty. You'll live forever in Hell!" He straightened, laughing, and slammed the iron shod door with an echoing clang.

xxx

The wagon shuddered over broken tracks as the oxen heaved it along the road. At every lurch, Sheila jarred against rough splintered wood. Her bruised body ached and blood clotted over her damaged cheek. Long hair continually tangled and pulled on the worn boards, shooting pain through her head at every rut.

Finally, Sheila managed to twist her wild hair and tuck it down the back of her dress. It was uncomfortable but not painful. Miserable, the Thief leaned her forehead against the cold iron bars, looking out on the passing landscape. She could hear other carts that had joined the caravan: other prisoners also on their way to the Wall.

The road was still pitted but now the train of prison carts traveled through a copse of trees, a change of scenery from the Cracked Lands of King Varen. Opening her eyes, Sheila looked out at the slow moving greens and browns. By pressing up against the bars, she could see what was ahead: more trees.

The crack of a whip right by her ear startled Sheila and she jumped back from the bars. An Orc yelled at her in his native tongue. Unable to understand Orc she figured out his meaning none-the-less. Apparently touching the bars was off limits. Sheila stepped closer to the window, keeping off the iron barrier, and watched as the Orc stomped further down the train, cracking his whip again.

A flash of yellow caught the woman's eye and she turned her head, frowning, trying to spot the bright bit of color. Teal eyes widened as her wagon prison lumbered past two men: a half-armored man with brown hair with a bloodied leg and a blond in green leathers carrying a bow. Hank! She opened her mouth to call to the Ranger but held herself back. She didn't want to endanger him; the Orcs were ignoring him so far.

Trying to keep the man in her sight without leaning on the forbidden bars, Sheila watched until Hank and his companion disappeared behind the train. Her heart twisted and she backed from the window, pushing a hand into her mouth to hold back a sob. Sinking to the hard floor, Sheila tried to get her emotions under control; it had been so long since she'd seen any of the others. Crying wouldn't help her out of this moving cell. She wiped her hand over her eyes and sat straighter.

At least she knew Hank was still alive; he'd looked pretty healthy, too. His companion was injured but, knowing Hank, the younger man would be well cared for. The Ranger's expression had been almost angry-which meant he was considering how to free the prisoners he'd seen pass by. She merely had to help him from her end.

Hand slipping down to her boot, easing the tight leather, Sheila froze. Her sensitive fingers ran carefully over the supple material. Slowly, she dipped her fingers under the cuff and felt the smooth package in the oiled hide. A smile lit her pretty face and she pulled her hand back, leaving the package where it was. They'd forgotten to search her; that was why she'd been able to pull her dagger earlier. And Varen had been so blinded with lust, she shuddered in disgust, that he hadn't thought to have her searched even after she'd pulled that blade.

She knew she could get out of almost any prison with the small tools and picks hidden in her boot. She only had to wait for the right time. Sheila bent her knees and curled her arms around them, burying her face in her knees. If anyone looked in, he'd think the Thief had given in to overwhelming fear and depression.

xxx

A grinding shudder jolted Sheila awake, her muscles screaming at protest of the cramped position she'd held for hours. Blinking open sleep-dazed eyes, the Thief looked around. Only a little bit of light filtered through the barred windows of her cart. Was it night then? Suppressing a groan, the twenty-three year old uncurled her body and rose to her feet. Carefully, she walked to the window, a hand moving absently to her left cheek. Blood caked the swollen flesh and she dropped her fingers from her throbbing injury.

Someone wrenched open the door to Sheila's prison wagon.

She glanced outside. A frown crossed her dirty, bruised face as she took in the rising stone structure in the flickering torchlight. There was a wide building perhaps four stories high, square and forbidding. A low wall extended from the fort to a squat building nearer the carts. This building had gaping window holes every few feet and seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness. The entire complex sat on a large rise, overlooking a barren valley, lit by campfires and torchlight strewn about the cracked, barren landscape. Dead.

"Uhhhh-"

Low moaning drew Sheila's attention back to the figures moving slowly, clumsily near the squat building. She wrinkled her nose: the stench of death and decay was almost overwhelming. Narrowing her teal eyes, she focused on a nearby man being led from the cart next over. His arm was clutch by one of the shambling figures, but his face was seized by horror, disgust. What was-?

Painfully Sheila's arm was seized and sharp fingernails raked her skin as she was pulled from the wagon. The stench turned her stomach and she looked down at her new guard only to recoil in terror. A decaying corpse pulled at her with clumsy jerks. Zombies! This place was crawling with zombies.

She moved as she was guided, her mind tumbling over the knowledge that King Varen had sent her to a lair of the undead-to live in hell for eternity-! "My God!" Sheila fought this new nausea, struggling to keep her mind clear.

There was little time to take in the tomb-like corridors of the squat building she was forced into. Wooden doors with barred windows broke the thick stonework every few feet, probably coinciding with those windows outside. Damp chill hung in the air, and the acrid stench of bodily waste mixed with the sickly sweet odor of decay. Several doors hung open sporadically through the corridor and Sheila was pushed into one, clawed hands catching at the material of her dress, ripping it further.

The door clanged shut and Sheila immediately headed for the small light flickering through the window: barred, of course.

"You're alive?"

Sheila whirled at the sound of the light feminine voice near the doorway. She narrowed her eyes but couldn't make out her cellmate's features. The voice was friendly, if surprised, and Sheila felt hope rise up. The undead rarely spoke unless they were of a higher order, such as vampires and wraiths.

"Yes," Sheila kept her voice soft, steady, in reply.

A soft shuffling noise signaled the other prisoner's movement. She walked with a sure step over to the window, joining the Thief. The faint torchlight flickering from outside lit the woman's pale features. She was thin, hungry looking, bruised, and ragged. Her hair was so dirty and tangled, the former color was indistinguishable. Her clothes had been cotton and leather once but, again, the color was undetermined. The woman smiled at Sheila; any other features were hidden by dark and dirt. "Thank the goddess. When they opened my door I thought for sure I was next."

Sheila asked, "next? Next for what?" She wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

The woman sank onto the floor and patted the dirty straw, a smile flickering across her face as much as the torchlight. "To join the Wall. That's what they do here: feed you to the Wall."

Sinking down next to her new companion, Sheila placed her hands on her thighs, deliberately keeping them from the lock picks she still kept hidden. "The Wall?"

"Yeah, the Wall of Souls. It's some sort of living wall that sucks people in and makes them undead." The woman shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning her back against the windowed wall.

Sheila nodded, "the zombies."

"No." The woman turned her smile on Sheila. Her voice was friendly despite their circumstances. "People sucked into the wall can't get out. The entire wall is a big undead being made of the people it's absorbed. The zombies were created by some other way, but I never bothered to learn how." She leaned forward as if imparting a secret, though her voice was still at a normal tone. "I've never wanted to know how to desecrate the dead. Eliavah."

"What?" Sheila blinked, confused by the ancient name thrown into the conversation.

The woman laughed. "I'm Eliavah. And no, I'm not that legendary archer. I'm only named her for." She flashed Sheila another smile, but the Thief had begun to discern the desperation below the happy veneer. This woman was pretending to nonchalance, struggling to hide horror and despair. "Eliavah was a famous Elfish archer from over a century ago." The woman leaned forward, dropping her voice low enough to keep it hidden from outside the cell. "She carried a legendary weapon, too. A _Weapon of Power_."

"_Weapon of Power_?" Sheila's voice sounded eager. She knew very little about the origins of the weapons which Dungeon Master had given them.

Eliavah smiled but kept her voice pitched low. "Yes, a _Weapon of Power_. She carried a bow that shot pure energy arrows."

"Hank. . ." Sheila breathed.

"Who?" Eliavah tilted her head in confusion.

Blushing at inadvertently revealing something, Sheila whispered, "Hank is a friend of mine. He's a Ranger and he carries the Energy Bow you're talking about." She hoped he'd come to help her, but knew her escape couldn't rely on someone else. Sheila had learned to be self-sufficient. "What about other Weapons of Power?"

A soft grunt alerted Sheila that her cellmate probably wasn't pleased to be redirected from the conversation about the bow, but she accommodated Sheila by allowing the change. "There were dozens of Weapons, but many were destroyed or lost over the decades. Very few are known of; most are allowed to rest in the Dragons' Graveyard, where their power source lies hidden." Suddenly she changed the subject again. "What's your name?"

"Oh." Sheila flushed again. She offered a smile to her new companion. "Sheila O'Neil. But call me Sheila."

The other woman nodded. "I like that name. Sheila. I've never heard it before but it's pretty. Call me Avah, it's easier. You're Human, aren't you?" Avah's voice was friendly, her smile flashing again.

With a nod, Sheila said, "yes. What about you?"

"I'm an Elf." Avah smiled at Sheila's surprise. "Do you have a home? A husband?" Loneliness laced the woman's words.

Sheila flushed a third time in as many minutes. "Uh-no. You?"

Avah laughed. "No. I sing for my supper."

"Sing?" Sheila turned fully towards her cellmate, wincing as her body protested any movement.

The other woman frowned suddenly and reached a gentle hand to Sheila's cheek. "They beat you." Avah pulled her own tunic, dirty as it was, from the waistband of her trousers and lifted it. Dark slashes marred the lighter skin but it was unclear whether those marks were bruises, lacerations, or scars. "Me, too. They do that every day or so if they leave you alive. I'm a traveling musician, a Bard. They took my pipes."

Her habit of rapid subject changes made Sheila's head whirl but she tried to keep up. "A Bard." Looking towards the barred window, Sheila asked "how long have you been here?"

Grunting softly, Avah stood, using the damp stone wall to push herself to her feet. "Seventeen nights, give or take a few." She walked to the door, peering out into the darkness. "I came in with five others. One was killed trying to escape. A second became part of the wall eight days ago. I haven't seen the others."

Sheila covered her mouth, troubled by Avah's matter-of-fact recital of loss. "How do you know what-"

"What happened to Jolon? You can see the wall from this side of the prison." She reached down and aided Sheila to stand then gestured out to the flickering valley. "Over-looking that valley is a huge wall of faces right below us but stretching around. The more people added, the longer it gets and the further it goes around the valley." She looked at Sheila, her voice serious at last. "If not stopped, the Lich will have the wall surrounding the valley and growing over the mountain walls."

Shock weakened Sheila's knees and she fell against the wall, shaking. "Lich?"

"That's what happens to someone who casts the exact wrong spells to hide his soul in some foreign container. The body is killed, but the soul, which twists and becomes evil, lives on."

The new voice came from the corridor, a husky feminine voice which sounded tired. Avah smiled at Sheila before looking back into the hall. "Hello, Raevonn. Fancy meeting you here."

Sheila moved towards the door and peered into the corridor, but darkness prevented her seeing anything or anyone.

"Hello yourself, Eliavah." The voice grew louder but no less tired; she sounded frustrated. "They caught me this morning scouting this place."

Avah laughed merrily, an odd sound in the prison. "Well, that's what you get for trying to scout, Healer. Did they hurt you?"

"Of course. Your friend came in on this train?"

"Yes," Sheila said. "I was caught in the Cracked Lands."

The voice of the Healer turned alert. "Varen's stolen kingdom? You must have angered him or must be extremely ugly if he didn't chain you to his bed."

Unable to resist a smile at the pronouncement, Sheila called back, "I refused him."

"Ladies, ladies, please." A tired masculine voice came from further down the corridor. "As much as I admire the melodious tones of your conversation, I must protest your energy."

"Raun!" Avah sounded delighted. "Where have you been?"

The reunion was instantly interrupted by a large, shambling creature moving down the corridor and slamming the doors with a huge fist. It groaned and moaned as it moved, a noise which sent a chill through the body. It took almost half an hour for the creature to turn into a new hallway, leaving the prisoners in eerie silence after its inhuman passage.

Raun's voice sounded again, his tone severe, "I was transferred here when that fiend Eno realized it could get nothing of value from me."

"Eno?" Sheila grasped the bars without thinking. The iron chilled her hands but nothing more happened. Some minutes passed in silence and the Thief thought she might not get an answer from the mysterious man.

"Sheila?" The man sounded more tired than curious. "Eno is a dracolich, an undead dragon brought back to unlife by that lich as a guard. Like any dragon, it loves treasure. Because of my equipment it must have felt I had access to vast wealth and so it spared me until now."

Avah sighed and moved back away from the door, sinking to the straw on the floor. Sheila glanced down at her then back into the yawning darkness in the hall. She could hear Raevonn shift away from her own cell door. No more sounds came from any of the other prisoners. The reunion was at an end.

The redhead moved to sink next to her cellmate. She knew that when she escaped, she'd have to take these people with her, but how would she pull that off? Getting herself out was plausible; getting Avah out would take work but wasn't beyond reason; getting Raevonn and Raun and countless other unnamed prisoners out was next to impossible. Even with Hank's possible help, the rescue might be beyond their capability. She had to make a plan.

Exhaustion overcame the Thief and she curled up next to Avah for warmth. Unable to resist the call of sleep, Sheila shut her eyes and fell into an uneasy doze. She didn't awake until full daylight streamed through the bars and fell over her face.

The place was no better in the day: the bodily waste was now as visible as it was aromatic. Avah, still asleep, curled into a pale, dirty ball, lay nearby. The Bard was small and delicate looking. Sheila realized that the starving Elfish woman probably wouldn't be much help in their escape; she hardly looked strong enough to lift herself.

Mind alert, Sheila began to plan the mass prison break.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Five: A Breakthrough


	25. A Breakthrough

Title: A Breakthrough

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 25 / 33

Rating: PG-13: language/ imagery

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 17 going on 18; Lorne- 21; Kosar- 25 going on 26; Ramuud- adult; Marinda- adult; Jaref- adult; Amber- adult

Summary: Bobby finds a new purpose in his old task. Losar, too, finds new purpose.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

The heat was bad but nothing he hadn't dealt with during his time in the Realm before. Early autumns were hot, too, back home, though this heat seemed hotter than any on Earth. But he could handle the heat. Hunger was a problem that bothered him less than the heat-if he could keep busy. He'd missed meals all the time while working so obsessively on his notebooks. Right now, however, there was nothing to do but trudge over the hot, scorched land trying not to think of air conditioning, ice cream, and cool lemonade. That was the big problem: the lack of liquids. Water was more than scarce; it was basically nonexistent.

Bobby ran a dirty hand, grimy from miles of dust and sweat, through his limp blond hair. He kept himself busy thinking ahead, trying to figure out where he could find the other _Children of Power_, but it didn't help to distract him from the hardships. He was exhausted-his mind wandered back to that old, familiar obsession with information. What he knew would be useful; he was dead certain it would. This time he'd be able to do more than hit trees with his club and tell Sheila to stop babying him. Thoughts of his sister and the old days in the Realm were interrupted by a soft, rather odd-sounding sigh, more heard in the mind than with the ears. Bobby turned to glance over his two companions.

Kosar had been silent until his soft sigh had drawn Bobby out of the past. The older man looked almost wilted, even his eyes seemed less alert than usual. He had long since stopped trying to keep their spirits up, falling into an introspective silence punctuated by the very rare comment on the dead landscape.

As for their other companion Lorne seemed affected by the heat even worse than Kosar. His habitual sarcasm and complaints hadn't been heard in over an hour, and Bobby occasionally let himself worry about the dark-haired Gypsy. The bandage on Lorne's head should have been changed ages ago, but they didn't have the supplies or the water to cleanse away the accumulated blood and dirt.

"Hey, Lorne, you still breathing?" Bobby's question was nothing more than an attempt to draw the other man out. If Lorne was walking he was definitely breathing, but the silence was worrying. Bobby preferred Lorne snarky to withdrawn.

The Gypsy looked up from where he'd been carefully placing his feet one plodding step at a time. Seeing both his companions watching him in such concern, the twenty-one year old grunted and looked back down. "Still breathing." His voice sounded drained of energy.

Silence once more fell over the trio of voyagers. Almost ten minutes passed before Lorne raised his head again. "Hey, Bobby?"

The blond-haired Barbarian looked over and tried an exhausted grin. "Yeah?"

Lorne gestured with one hand around the cracked wasteland. "Where you taking us? The Wall of Souls?"

"Wall of Souls? What's that?" In all his travels Bobby had never encountered a Wall of Souls.

A shudder ran through the Gypsy. "A cursed place. The land is dead. There are no animals. There's no water. People go there to die. No one returns." He turned haunted eyes to Bobby and stopped walking. "I won't go there, Bobby."

Bobby frowned. "I wasn't-" His voice trailed off. The Barbarian's eyes narrowed and he studied the horizon. The faint tinkling of bells rode the hot wind. With a yelp, Bobby called out, "be right back!" He took off running, renewed energy surging through him at what he'd seen.

Kosar and Lorne frowned at each other and began to walk after the running youth.

xxx

"Hail, Travelers!" Bobby waved an arm high, his club purposely held down in a non-threatening manner. "Please halt! I need to talk to you!" He hoped they wouldn't think him some deranged lunatic out to rob them or something.

A whistle signaled the caravan to comply with the request, and the animals and well laden wagons slowed. As soon as the last beast stood placidly in its traces, a woman in brown slipped rather clumsily from a howdah. She was followed by two men, one bandaged on the upper body and face. Despite his injuries, the turbaned man was the most graceful of the trio.

Bobby let out a whoop when he realized who he'd stumbled upon. Despite the wear of years, the couple looked much the same. The clues of caravan and desert dress made the Barbarian hopeful he'd found a third friend from long ago. "Jaref! Marinda! Is that Ramuud?"

The bandaged man called back, "indeed, My Son. Come join us."

Grinning, Bobby halted next to the apprehensive Marinda. "It's me, Bobby. Sheila's brother. Behind me are Lorne and Kosar. We're looking for the other _Children of Power_." He swung his club casually over his shoulder, breathing hard from his sprint.

Jaref and Marinda exchanged a dark look, not lost on Bobby.

"What?" His voice turned serious; his smile disappeared.

"My Sons!" Ramuud greeted the other two men as they stopped before the group. He gestured painfully to Lorne, "you are injured." With a smile of welcome, he said, "Come, we will break for the midday meal and tell you all we know."

While Bobby wanted to demand answers right away, he had learned something of patience over the years waiting at home. He joined in helping the caravan set out protective tents to rest in as well as food and drink. When Marinda glanced over Lorne's dirty, bloody bandaged head with worried eyes, Bobby was glad he'd kept his mouth shut. His friend really did need help.

Half an hour later, Bobby sank onto a cushion with a pleased groan; work was done and lunch could begin. Jaref handed the teen a bowl of food and a cup of cold water. Bobby smiled his gratitude. "Thanks, Jaref. How's Varla?" He glanced around the tent, missing Jaref's quick frown. "And I haven't seen Ayisha yet." Surprise coursed through him at the sight of the marigold-colored Faerie Dragon who glided in to sit by Kosar's cushion. "Amber?"

The dragon nodded once, but somehow she seemed strangely subdued.

Lorne snorted at Bobby's comments. He sipped his cool herbal water thankfully, absently noticing the lemon and clover taste, as Marinda began to soak his bandages with warm water to loosen them. He winced once during the procedure then grumbled a placating "I'm okay," as worry shot over her gentle face. It had been some years since he'd had the care of a kind woman; the Gypsy wasn't about to alienate this friend of Bobby's.

For his part, Kosar kept quiet as he drank and ate. He didn't know how these traveling folk would feel about his psionics, and he wasn't eager to push his luck. He knew Lorne was worse off than the younger man pretended; they all needed this break. He was also eager to hear any news they might have concerning the others.

Ramuud took a sip of his own herbal water, watching Bobby intently before finally speaking. "Albert said you went home, My Son." His voice held friendly curiosity, not censorship. He smiled at the puzzled looks from his two other guests; in time the men would learn his speech patterns, as everyone did who visited with the King of Kadish.

The seventeen year old blond nodded to Ramuud's subtle question. "I'm back. Dungeon Master wants us to gather the _Children of Power_ for a war coming. His eyes narrowed as he saw Marinda and Jaref exchange another dark look. "We caught wind of Hank and Eric forming an army, but haven't found them yet. Albert-that's Presto, right? You've seen him recently?" Bobby leaned towards his host, hopeful of the answer.

"Yes," Marinda spoke softly. "He seemed well." She bit her lip and added, "except for a sore throat." The woman glanced at her host.

He nodded. "Yes," Ramuud said. "His throat was injured but will soon mend." The caravan leader, and desert king, looked over his three newest visitors. "Albert has lived with my people these past six years, My Son. A few hours ago, Albert and Ayisha went north to the Wall of Souls to help free one of my daughters."

The Gypsy shuddered at the mention of the cursed area.

Straightening, Bobby stated in a low, serious voice, "explain, please." His blue eyes met Ramuud's brown.

It was Jaref who took up the narrative. "Six years ago, the Dungeon Master sent the _Children of Power_ to various places in the Realm where they were needed or could learn. Albert was sent to Kadish to perfect his magic."

"Which he has done well at," Ramuud's pride showed in his voice.

Jaref grunted, shooting the other man a quelling look. "Sheila came to Marinda and me." He looked like he was weighing his words then added, "Varla went north also, to help free-" he looked Bobby straight in the eyes and finished "your sister, Sheila."

Bobby jumped to his feet with an inarticulate cry. His stomach clenched and a wave of ice cold nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

The older man continued. "She was captured by King Varen and sent to the Wall of Souls."

Lorne shuddered again and signed a Gypsy protection ward over himself.

Standing slowly, Ramuud placed a bandaged hand on Bobby's shoulder. "I will provision you and get you directions, My Son." He knew better than to think the young Barbarian wouldn't rush off to save his beloved sister. "It would be wisest if Lorne stays here to heal." Ramuud bowed his head a bit to the twenty-one year old still being tended.

Kosar spoke for the first time, his mind voce bringing shocked looks from the three elders. "I, too, will stay here. Unarmed I will be of little use to Bobby." He looked at the youngest man. "You'll move quicker without me, I think."

The Barbarian nodded and hefted his club, thankful that his friends would be safe. "As soon as we can, Ramuud, I'm going after Sheila."

With a grim nod, Ramuud and Bobby set off to get supplies. The other four exchanged worried looks as they continued eating and resting. Jaref unrolled the many stolen scrolls in another attempt to translate some meaning from them. Curiously, Kosar glanced over the papers as well, interested to note star charts among the other scraps of miss-sorted information. Marinda finally unwound the last bandage on Lorne's head then gasped in shock at the lacerations throughout his scalp which had been revealed. It was evident to all that the Gypsy would most definitely have to stay with Ramuud's caravan for the foreseeable future; it was a wonder he'd made it that far.

xxx

A heavy feeling in his chest, Ramuud watched yet another young person head off to the infested lands in the northwest. The Barbarian was well supplied with rations, water, rope, and other necessities in a shoulder pack, but still Ramuud felt the boy wasn't as prepared as he could be. Even the borrowed brown trousers and tunic Bobby now sported under his leather harness seemed little protection from the coming ordeal.

Ramuud prayed Bobby would catch up to Ayisha and Albert-and maybe even Varla-and not have to face the undead on his own. The man well knew that no one man could fight the undead host alone. The desert king hoped he hadn't just sent the brave young man to his death.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Six: Coming Together


	26. Coming Together

Title: Coming Together

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 26 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Language, imagery

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Eric- 24; Uni- 19 (Elfish) but 9 (Unicorn); Terri- 18; Lorne- 21; Kosar- 25 going on 26; Ramuud- adult; Jaref- adult; Marinda- adult; Amber- adult

Summary: Eric, Terri, and Uni get the news and join the hunt.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

"You could teach DM a thing or two about teleporting, Uni!" Eric whirled around, his face showing the delight in his voice. "I don't feel sick at all." He grinned at his red-headed companion and noted her faint blush.

Terri nodded her agreement, her tones more subdued that Eric's. "It was certainly different than that surge I felt when I showed up in the Graveyard." She looked around at the large area of sprawling tents and turbaned people packing unfamiliar beasts. "Where are we?"

Eric glanced around, taking note of the beasts, the people, the howdahs and tents, and laughed. "Terri, unless I miss my guess, you are about to meet one of the nicest people in the entire Realm." He shot the teen a grin.

"Myeah!" Uni nearly trembled in pleased anticipation. She, too, had enjoyed her time with the desert king. "We should meet him, Airk."

"Damn!" the voice came from off to the left, full of surprise and delight. "The _Caviar's_ all grown up!"

All three whirled to see a dark-haired man sauntering towards them, most of his head bandaged in crisp white. He was dressed in a brown tunic and dark trousers of heavier material than the desert people were wont to wear. The smile on his face, and his amused blue-grey eyes, were as welcoming as any of Ramuud's people.

"Lorne!" Eric rushed forward to envelope the other man in a hug. "Wow! When did you join Ramuud?"

"About an hour ago," came the feminine reply of Marinda, again drawing delighted shock from Eric.

This time Uni gave a laugh and grabbed Terri's hand, tugging her towards the older woman. Uni's voice carried on the wind, "and here's another one of the nicest people in the Realm, Terri."

The redheaded Elf's words made Marinda blush, especially as the woman had no idea who the two young ladies were with the familiar Cavalier. "Thank you, and welcome. Please, rest. We'll be starting off soon but Ramuud's tent is still set up." She offered both hands to the teenaged women. "Jaref is in there studying with Kosar."

"Kosar!" Eric turned surprised eyes on the woman. "I thought he'd left." He gladly slid his arm companionably around Lorne's shoulders, though, and followed Marinda towards the largest tent. "Does Jaref still hate me?"

Lorne gave a quick glance to Eric. "You still ruffling feathers?"

"As often as possible," Eric quipped back. Something in Lorne's worried tone drew his attention. "Hey, Corny, what's wrong?"

The other man shook his head then winced at the pain from his injudicious movement. "Where's Hank? We were told he'd be with you."

Marinda opened the tent flap, allowing the group to move into the comfortable enclosure, eschewing temporarily the cracked landscape and driving heat outside. She followed them in, heading for the sideboard and the light luncheon still set up there. As she began to serve the new arrivals, Ramuud slipped in from supervising the packing up.

Ramuud was unable to say anything as Eric answered Lorne. "Who told you I was with Hank? I haven't seen him for six years. Stupid DM teleported me smack dab into an Orc battle and if it wasn't for Uni, I'd have been dead." He gestured to the pale-skinned Elf.

Five jaws dropped open at the new information. Finally, Kosar broke the silence in his odd voice. "Uni? You mean Bobby's unicorn?"

Eric jumped at the audible and mental voice. "Whoa-uh, Kosar? What happened to you?"

Jaref raised his voice to drown out all replies. "Enough. One question and story at a time." He glared around the tent, shifting the scrolls in his lap. "Ramuud, sit before you fall." The white-haired man sent a worried glare to the dark-haired king. When the other man obeyed, Jaref turned back to the new trio. "There isn't time for many explanations. The enemy is a host of undead," he gestured towards a scroll between Kosar and Amber, ignoring the surprise once again from the newest visitors; they hadn't noticed her on entering.

With a sigh, Marinda pushed food and drink at the three, but no one touched what was offered, too intent on the conversation.

"One of ours was captured and is being taken to the Wall of Souls. Four of ours have gone after her. We are short on weapons for the army we were told was being raised." Jaref's voice rose in agitation with every word.

Kosar's hands flew to cover his ears and he looked to be in severe pain. His voice was soft by comparison. "Please, Jaref. My head aches enough with the unfamiliar minds around."

The older man flushed and turned his habitual frown on the young man. His voice was barely audible when he said, "I apologize, Kosar. I forgot you hear minds."

"Hear minds?" Terri looked at the brown-haired man in curiosity. "Doesn't that get overwhelming?"

Jaref glared at the girl and she shut her mouth, a flush tinting her cheeks. The older man turned back to Eric, still taking the lead from Ramuud. "Ramuud and Lorne were injured so we move slowly towards the Wall of Souls and the battle coming.

Eric jumped on the statement. "You said one of ours was captured and taken there, right? Uni, Terri, and I can move quickly. We can get there and help free this person."

Cutting through her husband's words, Marinda said, "four have already gone after her. Though Aelhb-Urt and Varla need weapons."

"Albert?" Uni sounded faintly confused as she turned her back to Eric, who began untying the trident she carried.

Terri nodded, dark ponytail swinging. "That would be Presto. His real name is Albert."

A look of surprise crossed Eric's face. "Yeah, I remember him yelling at me about it. That was right before we got teleported and hell began." He released the trident and handed it over to Lorne. "Weapons," he commented and he pulled the flail from his belt and handed it over to Lorne. "_Weapons of Power_," he added smugly.

Ramuud leaned forward and asked, "How did you know to bring them, My Son?"

The Cavalier grinned and gestured towards Terri. "She told us DM said we needed to get them to the _Children of Power_. Well, until we can find the others, we may as well let you guys use them. Turn around, Terri, let me get that horn for you." He interrupted himself easily then went right back to talking with Ramuud, unstrapping the ties that held the massive spiral of ivory to Terri's back. "We know you're going to show up in the right spot when you get there, so they'll only be on loan."

"Not all of them," Lorne interjected. He weighed both weapons in his hands then passed the flail to Kosar, who looked amused. "Kosar and me are two of the _Children of Power_ you're looking to arm. And we could use these weapons."

Eric grinned and tapped Terri's shoulder absently. He handed the horn to Ramuud. "Presto still has his hat?"

The bandaged man nodded slowly. "Yes, and he has improved much over the years. His spells are magnificent now he has learned to ask for exactly what he wants. Random requests led to random magic in his youth."

"Right," Eric stood. "That means Varla'll need a weapon, which we've got in the pack. So, point us to this Wall of Souls and we'll get moving."

Marinda whimpered, but Jaref put a quelling hand on her shoulder. Lorne stopped admiring his new weapon to frown at his long time friend. Kosar nodded, resigned, and looked back at his papers. Ramuud, however, put a brief hand on Eric's shoulder. "Let me provision you, My Son. We could not do less for you than we have for the others who left here."

With a nod, Eric followed Ramuud from the tent.

Turning to the young women, Marinda softly said, "eat while you wait." She offered the food once more, and this time they accepted it.

In a determined voice, Amber finally spoke up. "Let me come, too? I know the way and know all of who have gone to save her."

"It's a good idea," Kosar added. He sounded distracted and became more so when Terri moved to sit beside him.

"What's this?" She glanced over what looked like a poem. She couldn't resist the question; years of watching Bobby at what seemed to be a similar task had made her curious about people's research: especially in light of her recent knowledge of Bobby's danger.

He shook his head and pulled it on top. "It's an old song called '_The Jewel of Eliavah_'. I'm not sure why it was locked in King Varen's safe, but he thought it was important." His eyes darkened. "Important enough to take one of ours captive."

With an equally dark frown, Terri lifted the parchment and glanced over it. Speaking, as she didn't know the tune of the song, she recited:

"_To each his own  
In golden shelter  
The unicorn unleashes the snake  
Then a sharp divide  
One to twist in the wind  
Encircled by the mariner's charge  
The other to cut through the darkness  
Join in the energy unseen  
Pierced by an emerald shaft  
A crack of wood  
An echo of steel  
With the power to invoke  
And bound in chains  
Let free the jewel of the Elves  
But let it begin with the heart_."

Amber looked up, surprise on her dragon face. "Oh, Queen Tasmira used to sing that for us at evening fall."

Offering a smile to the little dragon, Terri gestured towards the stack of papers in general. "And all these?"

Kosar looked at her then back at the papers. "These papers hold the secret to defeating the enemy. They're tactical plans and star charts and messages sent back and forth among his allies. If I could just decipher their use, I would know how to stop him."

Terri's denim blue eyes met Kosar's blue. "He's after Bobby."

The Psionicist frowned. "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged and took one of the pages. "Because Bobby knows too much. He knows everything almost about the Realm." She looked back up at the older man, her face darkened with worry. "I'm afraid for him."

He put a hand on her shoulder and his voice was for her mind alone as he said, "Bobby was one of the ones that went after her. He was fine an hour ago when he left us."

As no one else had heard the comment, shock reverberated around the group when Terri sobbed and threw her arms around Kosar. Eric and Ramuud stopped in the doorway at the scene. Finally, Eric snorted in amusement. "Yeah, he had that effect on Diana, too."

Embarrassed, Kosar carefully unwound Terri's arms from his neck and gave her a gentle smile. He took the crumpled paper from her lap and smoothed it over his knee. "You should leave. You are only an hour behind him."

"Him?" Eric looked from Kosar to Ramuud.

Smiling, Terri stood and reached to Uni, pulling her up by the arm. "He means Bobby. They saw Bobby and he was heading to this Wall of Souls prison. We're right on his tail."

Amber flew to the Cavalier and landed lightly on his shoulder. Happily, she chirruped, "then what are we waiting for?"

Eric looked at the Faerie Dragon then at Terri and Uni. With a smile, he nodded and handed over two of the packs he carried. "Right. Let's go help Bobby."

As the foursome made their way northwest towards the cursed prison, the other five watched them leave. This parting, unlike all of the others before, did not feel so fatalistic. It must have been the knowledge that, aware or not, the _Children of Power_ were beginning to converge in one place again. Dungeon Master's plan was beginning to come together. For the first time since Sheila's capture, hope blossomed among the allies.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Seven: Plans Change


	27. Plans Change

Title: Plans Change

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 27 / 33

Rating: Violence, Language, undead, imagery

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Hank- 24 going on 25; Timothy- 18; Varla- 23; Freddie (Fritz)- 9 (assumed); Presto- 23; Ayisha- 24; Sheila- 23; Eliavah- adult; Raun- adult; Raevonn- adult

Summary: Hank plans to rescue Sheila. Plans change.

Note: One of my reviewers gave me some sound advice concerning the use of bad guys. I agree with your assessment. You will find, however, that this story has a basis on "Requiem" the official last (but unaired) episode by Michael Reeves. I'll definitely use your advice in future stories, however, as it is very good advice. Thanks!

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Darkness hid the barren landscape and stone fort, but nothing could disguise the stench of death and decay. Torches flickered on the height, lighting the prison train, the four story fort, and the squat prison next to it. Lumbering figures moved around the carts, pulling victims from the wagons and pushing them towards the gaping door of the low building. Campfires dotted the valley, showing that hundreds of beings awaited below the compound.

Hank pulled back against a small cliff-face, keeping his eyes on the prisoners and their slow moving guards. Beside him, Varla held a piece of the cloak over her mouth and nose, another over the dog's. Her grey eyes watered at the noxious odor, but she, too, refused to back down.

Timothy sat back against the rock wall, closing his eyes. His left hand rested on his injured leg, the bruised arm twinging. The shield was uncomfortable on his uninjured right arm, an unfamiliar weight to the right-handed fighter. His voice sounded weary as he asked, "do we attack them tonight while it's dark out?"

The Ranger shook his head, sliding down the stone wall to join Timothy on the ground. "No, there's too many of them." He kept an eye on the flickering circles of light, trying to count prisoners. So far, they numbered a dozen.

Lifting her cloth filter, Varla's voice was a hoarse whisper as she asked, "do the undead sleep in daytime?"

Hank shook his head. "The undead don't sleep."

"But _we_ need to, Hank," Timothy pointed out.

"Yeah, I know." Hank closed his eyes, running a strong, tanned hand wearily over his eyes. "Look, we'll take turns on watch." He opened his eyes and looked at his friends. "Two hour increments. The watch wears the cloak. Timothy take first watch. Then I'll go, so you'll get four hours uninterrupted, hopefully."

"I'll take third, of course," Varla added. She removed the cloak and handed it over to Timothy. "You can try to bandage Fritz and yourself while you watch. It could keep you awake." She offered a smile to the younger Knight.

He flushed as their hands touched but accepted the cloak. Slipping the feather-light lavender material over his shoulder, he pulled open his pack. "Uh, how does it work?"

The redhead smiled again as she delved into Hank's pack for water. "Just pull up the hood."

Timothy nodded and accepted the warm flask. He pulled out cloth strips and a larger rag from his own supplies. "Uh. . ." his hands froze while grey-green eyes followed Varla's movements as she sank to the hard, rock-strewn ground, "night," he whispered and was rewarded with her sweet smile.

xxx

Varla walked slowly in front of her sleeping charges. Thankfully the night had passed without incident and all three of her companions slept in the light of the passing morning. She would have awaken them after the allotted two hours but saw no reason to; the undead guards had been just as prevalent at dawn as they had been at midnight. Better to let the men, and dog, rest for what would be an unquestionably difficult rescue attempt.

Her intention to let her companions rest disappeared as she noticed the general surge of zombies into the prison structure itself. That worried her so she shook Hank's shoulder. "Hank-they're on the move."

Instantly, the Ranger woke and sat up. He focused on the slow-moving exodus then nodded. "Timothy, we need to get up." He reached over to the younger man and touched Timothy's right shoulder, careful not to disturb the youth's bruised left arm.

Fritz yawned and stretched as Timothy sat up. The youth groaned and began to massage his injured leg.

Hank frowned. "You okay to join us?"

"Yeah, give me a moment," Timothy said. He eased himself up, using the wall for support. "Just a bit stiff, you know? I'll walk it out." He met Hank's worried gaze and offered a determined smile.

The Ranger nodded and turned back to the prison. He watched the last of the zombies disappear inside. "Wonder what they're up to." "I could sneak over and check," Varla offered. "It's my specialty. I've been sneaking around places for six years now." She reached for the hood of the cloak but Hank's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Who's that?"

The companions watched in surprise as a pair of newcomers slipped over the rise from the opposite bluff. Sunlight caught briefly on something one carried or wore but as quickly disappeared. The figures moved stealthily closer to the prison.

"Now who'd want to break into hell?" Timothy asked.

Hank replied in amused tones, "you mean besides us?"

"Uh," the Knight nodded. "Yeah. Who else?"

Their female member dropped her hand from where it still gripped the cloak. She pointed to a place behind the prison, visible only because of their slightly elevated vantage point. "I think the prisoners are being moved."

The men followed her gesture with their eyes.

Behind the prison several zombies led captives from the stone structure. The group expanded as quickly as the zombies could move. All together there seemed to be two dozen captives. They were guided and shoved towards a piece of cliff unlike any the companions had seen before.

Heaving, the wall moved and rippled in the early light, stretching the length of the prison and curving downwards towards the front of the valley. Faces, hundreds of faces, swelled from the mixed-flesh toned surface. Occasionally an arm or leg would emerge only to suck back into the wall. Groans erupted from the hapless victims, and the stench of decay emanated from that foul monstrosity.

"So, _that's_ the Wall of Souls," Hank whispered, fighting the heaving of his empty stomach.

The zombies left the prisoners standing in a huddle to loosely surround their despondent captives. No one seemed to be aware that outsiders watched.

Movement caught Hank's eye and he turned his head, catching sight of the other pair again. A ginger-haired man stepped forward, something in his hand. Sunlight glinted off the man's glasses a second time, bringing a frown and a vague sense of recognition to the Ranger. As the young man at the far end of the compound lifted his hand, another movement distracted the blond Ranger. A well-dressed man strode up behind the unwitting pair, his face somehow striking unease in Hank despite the man's handsome looks.

Realizing the danger to the couple, instinctively knowing the man worked for the enemy, Hank stood. He quickly brought his bow to the ready. Pulling the magical energy string to its tautest, he screamed out, "Albert, duck!" Hank let the arrow fly, angled upwards to gain the distance needed to cross the prison compound.

xxx

Presto pulled his hat from his pocket, eyes never leaving the group of prisoners. Among the frightened figures was a redheaded woman in brown. She had blood caked down one side of her face, but Presto could still recognize Sheila even after all these years.

Against the Thief's side leaned a petite woman with matted hair of a non-descript color, shielding her eyes with a grubby hand. Her skin was pale and she had the manner of one unused to the open air after a long time indoors. A tall, well-groomed man with silver hair to his waist stood on Sheila's other side, her hand on his arm either for support or comfort.

Next to the Magician, Ayisha hissed, "Minor gods and deities-Albert, look at the cliff!" Revulsion colored her normally husky voice, dropping it deeper.

He looked at the wall near the prisoners and had to hold back his breakfast. In disgust at the dark magic used to create such an abomination, Presto tore his eyes from the grotesque sight, concentrating once more on a spell he could use. He had to take out the undead without hurting any of the living captives this time. Images of a heavily bandaged Ramuud swam behind his eyes, and Presto forced his mind to calm, his emotions to ease.

The pair concentrated so hard on the rear prison yard that neither noticed the figure approaching from behind.

Suddenly a man shouted, "Albert, duck!"

Instinctively, the couple threw themselves to the hard earth before Presto looked up to see who'd called out. He couldn't spot the speaker but the tell-tale golden arrow lighting the morning sky alerted Presto to the man's identity. "Hank!"

Ayisha screamed as a clawed hand grasped her ankle. She kicked at the man in vain, only to have him release her as he dodged the energy arrow. Drawing her Sonic Sword, Ayisha pointed it towards the man but stopped, confused.

He had disappeared.

She desperately pulled Presto to his feet. "We have to get away from here, Albert! He'll return."

The Magician didn't argue, heading straight for the prison below their rise, ignoring the horrified yells from Ayisha to 'stop' and 'run!' He grabbed her by the arm and hissed out, "Climb. Those zombies won't follow up here."

In the prison yard chaos reigned and zombies lumbered towards the outer edges of the courtyard. Understanding Presto's warning, Ayisha obeyed him. If they could outfox the zombies, they would only have to contend with that other enemy. A shudder wracked her as she helped Presto onto the roof of the squat prison.

He lay on his stomach on the cold stone as Ayisha scrambled up next to him. He held his hat at the ready, eyes scanning for any sign of attack. Then he groaned in horror. "No! Hank-"

xxx

As a golden arrow lit the sky, confusion and panic filled the prisoners. Screams erupted as people began to scatter or fall to the ground. Zombies grabbed for victims, their simple '_guard_' instructions fleeing in the face of living terror. It was time to feed.

Sheila's teal eyes were fixed on the magical arrow, hope surging through her. She still held Avah against her on one side, the injured Elf half-blinded in the bright sunshine after two and a half weeks in the gloom of the prison. On the Thief's other side stood the Elf she'd talked to through the bars the night before: Raun. Her hand rested on his soft sleeve though she hardly noticed his incongruously clean state. The golden arrow meant Hank was there!

A low moaning alerted Sheila of the pending attack a moment before Raun pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his.

Avah hadn't been so lucky, but she did prove quicker than anyone would have given her credit for. The Bard danced nimbly backwards out of the way of the grasping zombies, a frown erasing her habitual smile. Her voice grew harsh as she spewed foreign words at their attackers. With a well-aimed kicked, Avah managed to push away one zombie before another grabbed her from behind. She let out a high-pitched shriek.

Raun murmured in Sheila's ear, "stay down, Sheila. They will not see you if you do not move." The unarmed Bladesinger, an Elf trained in the magical dance of swordplay, rose to help his fellow Elfkin. The combined tackle of two zombies swept him to the ground.

Three more golden arrows ripped through the sky, but they didn't strike anyone in the courtyard. Sheila, head covered with her arms, looked up to see where Hank was positioned. She couldn't see him at all.

"Enough!" A deep voice reverberated over the yard, bringing the chaos to a decisive end. Striding quickly to the center of the group, a figure in blue armor, faceplate covering his identity, pulled a zombie to a halt next to him. He gestured to the group at large and zombie guards fell into a restless delay. "We will continue prisoner indoctrination as soon as the rebels are dealt with. Bring the prisoners back to their cells!" The armored man turned his head to face in the direction of Raun's lithe figure kneeling on the ground, gaze passing over Sheila as he moved.

She felt as if he'd sullied her with his hidden gaze.

Avah growled out in her native tongue again.

A taloned hand pulled first Raun then Sheila to their feet, and soon a recaptured Avah joined them as they were hurried indoors.

xxx

Hank watched, relief at the pair's escape turning to horror as his target vanished. The arrow struck the ground instead. "What?" Was the guy a teleporter-able to turn invisible and move at quicksilver speeds? He shook his head, pushing the thought back. At least his attack had saved the others and apparently caused chaos in the prison yard. The Ranger watched as pandemonium ruled the courtyard while the pair on the far side climbed onto the prison roof. An odd tactic- Shouts and hissing drew Hank's attention back to his own group and horror filled him once more. They were under attack by flying ghasts.

Raising his bow to attack, Hank felt fire rip through his chest. He bit back a scream of pain, letting loose three arrows in quick succession. All found their targets and the ghasts fled. Hank knew the reprieve wouldn't last long.

"Get back!" Timothy's voice broke through the haze of battle, and the foursome headed down the far side of their rise. Varla had to be guided as she was staring intently at the prison. The pair was no longer visible on the roof.

Looking over the group, Hank groaned softly, wrapping an arm over his torn chest. Only the pretty redhead remained unscathed, and that was due entirely to the use of Sheila's cloak.

Damn! He'd risked his own companions for a pair of unknowns. It had to be one of his stupidest decisions of all time. Hank groaned again as Varla knelt and slowly began dressing his wounds, her eyes distant, almost blank.

"Varla?" Hank's worry came out as a harsh whisper. Was she hurt after all?

She didn't leave him wondering long, though her eyes remained vague and her movements deliberate. "You saved them, Hank. Thank you." Her voice was soft and equally measured.

"Are you okay?" Hank asked, placing a hand gently on her arm. The woman smiled softly. "Yes. I have to concentrate to keep the illusion or they'll be seen."

"Illusion?" Timothy looked up from buckling his armor over his injured leg. He'd been caught without in that attack and suffered a re-injury to his leg and arm. He wouldn't be caught out again. "Yes," Varla said, still softly. "I can create illusions. I'm hiding Presto and his friend." She sounded distant but happy. Hank looked surprised. "You know them?"

With a slow nod, once, the woman replied, "yes. My heart knows it's Presto. If you hadn't yelled and fired, he'd have been killed." A shudder ran through her slender body.

Timothy grinned, though there was no joy in the expression. "We should regroup. Join Presto and his friend before trying to rescue Sheila." He buckled on his other greave. "We could use the help, and he has magic."

Hank nodded and shot Varla a thankful smile as she tied the last bandage in place.

She smiled and stood, reaching for the clasp of the cloak. "Maybe you should wear this, Hank. You're badly hurt."

The Ranger shook his head. "No. You wear it. I'd like at least one of us to remain unhurt." He painfully reached for his studded leather hauberk. "Besides, Timothy and I have weapons." He pulled the light armor over his head and settled it protectively over his bandaged torso as Varla helped Timothy into his scale mail breastplate.

For his part, the dog merely rested, licking a nasty gash on his forepaw. His matted brown and grey fur hid most of the damage, but his soft whimpers told of the canine's pain.

At last the foursome was ready. They stood, moving slowly in deference to both injury and illusion. They climbed back over the rise, checking warily for enemies. Varla kept the hood pulled up, the cloak masking her as she masked the Magician in turn.

There was no sign of the enemy anywhere in the yard.

Hank frowned. Something didn't feel right. This was too easy; they were walking into a trap. "Guys, we should. . ." he never got to finish as the well-dressed man appeared before him with a leer.

Raising his bow, Hank gasped as the man knocked the weapon away with ease, sending it skittering across the rocky ground.

Hissing alerted the group to the return of the ghasts. Three quickly set upon Timothy while another two grabbed for the wildly barking Fritz. The man grabbed Hank's throat and two ghasts grabbed the Ranger's arms, pulling them back painfully.

"What a delight." The stranger's voice was melodious, hypnotic, as he spoke. "You are wounded. Ask me for help and you shall be tended to, Ranger."

Snarling, Hank ground out, "go to hell!"

"Fair enough," the man replied with a shrug and a smile. The undead group forced the captured trio into the prison below the helplessly watching, and hidden, Presto and Ayisha.

No one noticed as Hank's discarded bow slowly lifted into the air then disappeared.

xxx

The prison corridors were nearly black; sunlight barely filtered in through cell windows and didn't make it past the heavy cell doors. Most of the cells were locked with desperate captives huddled on dirty straw or standing by barred windows, reveling in the brief daylight. The stench inside was greater, contained by the thick, cold stone walls and floors: death, decay, hopelessness. Silence, broken by sobs, moans, and shuffling noises, surrounded the newest prisoners.

Opening the door of a cell facing the Wall, the ghasts pushed their prisoners into the room, their talons tearing at cloth, flesh, and fur. Hank hit his knees, hands immediately shooting out to catch himself. Timothy stumbled with a clatter but caught himself on the doorframe. He slid into the room voluntarily, avoiding continued punishment from the ghasts. One bedraggled figure tossed the nearly unconscious dog behind the two humans; Fritz landed on Hank's legs, drawing a gasp of pain from the Ranger.

The door thudded shut.

Hank eased the dog to the floor and rose to unsteady feet. He slowly pulled his torn hauberk over his head, careful not to let the metal studs catch on his skin or hair. Dropping the light armor to the floor, he eased his dirty, bloody tunic off and dropped it as well. Neither was much use in its damaged condition. Clad only in the soft leather trousers and calf-high boots, it wasn't hard to notice the bandaging strapped around the Ranger's torso. He moved slowly, pain evident in every motion. He continued undressing, trying to ascertain the extent of his wounds; he hurt everywhere.

Timothy favored his left leg, easing onto the hard stone floor. He began unfastening his armored leg greaves. As he bent and twisted to remove his heavily dented scale-mail, small moans and grunts marked the eighteen year old's injuries. Timothy's wounds had freshly reopened in the most recent skirmish and new blood mixed with old clotting.

Equally tired and injured, Fritz slumped onto the floor with a long, low groan. The old sheepdog yawned and sniffed, disheartened, at the air, as if catching a faint sent he had no energy to investigate. He began to lick his forepaw.

A husky feminine voice said, "hello."

Hank stopped unfastening his trousers and turned towards the corner behind the door. Hands on his waistband, he offered a faint frown to the woman hidden in the shadows. "Hello?"

She limped forward, her silk tunic and skirt ripped and dirty. Her bare feet showed old injuries, her right swollen and heavily bruised. Walnut brown hair cut close to her head made her appear more masculine than feminine, if one didn't look at her heavily developed chest and hips, barely covered by the thin material of her clothing. Dark blue eyes, the irises ringed by violet, stared unflinchingly at her new cellmates. "My name is Raevonn. Welcome to hell."

Timothy tried to rise but she lifted a hand, arresting his efforts. "Don't, please. You are hurt." Limping to the Knight's side, she flopped onto her rear end with a grunt, apparently a less painful way of sitting than trying to bend her legs or put more weight on her foot. The Elf, for it was obvious by her tipped ears that she was Elfish, helped unbuckled Timothy's left greave. "Were you outside for the near riot?"

The Ranger eased himself down next to the pair and helped unbuckled Timothy's hauberk. "I caused it." His voice echoed softly in the chamber.

"Good for you," Raevonn smiled fiercely. "I watched from here and hoped someone would escape. No one did?"

Shaking his head, Timothy thankfully eased his armor off piece by piece. "Not that I saw."

She nodded then reached over and ripped the damaged trousers from Timothy's leg, revealing the gash. Not raising her eyes, the woman placed her hands directly on the bloody wound. Her lips moved but no sound emerged; her hands began to glow a soft deep forest green.

Not wanting to interrupt the woman's spell, though unsure exactly what she meant to do to the young Knight, Hank reached for Fritz. He began running his fingers carefully through the matted fur, careful not to dislodge any clots as he tried to assess the dog's injuries. It seemed that Fritz's paw was the most serious wound. That was one relief.

The dog whimpered but allowed Hank's attentions, licking his paw as the human checked him.

Long quiet moments passed before the glow in Raevonn's hands faded. She lifted her hands which were shaking. Weariness dragged at her features but she offered Timothy a small smile.

Sounds of shuffling and loud thudding came from the corridor.

Hank stood, suppressing a groan, and moved to the door, trying to see what was happening. Someone had lit a pair of torches, one at either end of the corridor. In the low light, ghasts and zombies slammed opened doors and pulled at prisoners. The Ranger watched grimly.

"What is it, Hank?" Timothy's face mirrored Hank's worry.

The blond looked at his friend then back out to the hallway. "They're moving the prisoners again."

"Indoctrination," Raevonn shifted painfully but didn't rise. "New prisoners are brought to the Wall to see what awaits them. If a prisoner is wounded severely enough he becomes the demonstration. I should be there but Eliavah took my place." Her husky voice lowered on her last words. "She told me I was too injured to go."

In response, Hank walked over to Raevonn and offered her his hand. Frowning, she took it and allowed him to help her up. He slipped an arm around her waist, "lean on me." He knew the woman would need to see the indoctrination, see what her friend was risking by taking her place out in the yard. He guided her to the window and let her lean on it. The sounds of prisoner movement continued so Hank helped Timothy up and to the window. They needed to know what they were up against.

The sight of that heaving wall of flesh outside made his stomach churn, but Hank didn't remove his eyes from the spectacle of the prisoners being herded into the courtyard. Once more the zombies formed a loose circle around the captives, the ghasts disappearing into crevices in the cliff-side. That was the reason he hadn't seen them earlier. Hank frowned.

Softly, Raevonn said, "there, the small Elf is Eliavah. The man with her is Raun. I suppose that makes the redhead Sheila, a new prisoner who arrived last night." She gestured to each figure as she spoke.

Hank followed her finger, his eyes roving over the petite redhead in brown. Her tangled hair was tucked into the back of her dress. Blood caked the side of her face causing pain of a different kind to well in Hank's chest. He drew a steadying breath, keeping his eyes on the trio.

"Why is Raun the only one not hurt? He's not even dirty." Timothy sounded confused.

Raevonn said, "I think he's been held prisoner by the Dracolich. It's an undead dragon." She looked at the Knight then back into the slowly filling yard. "When Raun was captured he wore gold and silver armor and had a jeweled blade. Last night he said the Dracolich mistook his Bladesinger's gear for treasure and thought Raun had access to more. It finally decided that he did not and sent him to the prison."

The blue armored figure did not make an appearance, but they knew he must be watching. Instead, the smiling stranger stepped forward to take control of the event. He seemed even eerier since he was the only one, aside from the Bladesinger, that was nicely dressed and clean.

"A vampire-" Raevonn hissed, her voice bitter. "And not the typical night creeper."

"He can disappear or teleport," Hank informed her.

She nodded. "An Eastern vampire then. They can turn invisible and hypnotize people. Sunlight doesn't bother them. Neither do the other normal weapons such as silver." She grunted and shifted, taking weight off her swollen foot. "Hard to kill, an Eastern vampire. The desert people know their secrets, but I doubt there are many desert people here to help us."

"I assume," Hank said, "that this guy obeys the armored man?" Raevonn barked a short laugh and nodded. "Not a man, Hank. A lich. His evil essence is in the armor, but his soul is hidden elsewhere." The Healer looked at the Ranger. "A lich can be killed and come back unless the original soul is found and the container destroyed. He won't be keeping such a valuable treasure nearby."

Timothy hissed at the pair, "they're doing something."

xxx

Sheila wrapped her arm more securely around Avah's waist, letting the injured Bard lean on her again; all trace of last night's amusement had disappeared from the small Elf. The Thief had one hand on Raun's arm. As he guided her Sheila avoided claws and talons. She tried to cooperate with the undead guards even as she avoided looking at that horrendous wall of flesh. The injured cheek ached and her eye had swollen nearly shut on that side; Sheila thought she might have an infection.

Unable to come up with a plan to help release all the prisoners, especially now that she could see how many dozens there were, Sheila determined to narrow her immediate goal. She had to escape, take Avah with her, and reach Hank. They'd have to come back for the others.

It would be safest to leave the weak Bard behind, but Sheila couldn't bring herself to accept that possibility. They shared a cell; leaving the Elf would be tantamount to saying Avah wasn't important. Sheila would find a way.

First they had to get through whatever had been planned for them.

A well-dressed man stepped in front of the huddled group of prisoners, the wall to his back, the zombies parting to let him through. He smiled in a comforting way at the mass of misery. Something about his manner in the face of such desolation made everything surreal.

Raun's hand tugged at Sheila's hair and she turned her head, frowning. "Hide your face in my shoulder, Sheila. Then he will not see you."

He was right. If she looked as bad as she felt, Sheila knew she'd appear weak. Avah had pretended to be Raevonn, newly captured yesterday, to protect her injured friend. Injured people were sacrificed first to whatever rituals these fiends performed. Sheila turned her face to put her injured cheek to his soft-clad shoulder. Her hair had started coming out from where she'd tucked it in her shirt and strands fell over her face, aiding in hiding her wounds. She peeked around his shoulder to see what was happening.

The creepy man seemed to adore the attention of his literally captive audience. He finally spoke in a sure voice, sounding friendly. "This indoctrination should teach you why you will not rebel. The weak and injured will be helped. You will live forever."

His speech made little sense; the meaning of his words didn't sink in. Sheila frowned. Avah's arm tightened on her waist and the Thief lifted her head to glance at the Bard. "What?" she kept her voice soft.

"This is what happened to Jolon," the Elf replied, equally soft. Distress radiated through her voice and body.

Sheila turned to embrace her new friend, burying her face in Avah's shoulder instead, more hair sweeping over her cheek. Later she realized that move may have saved her life.

"Yes," the man's voice sounded. "Take the silver-haired one."

"Raun?" Avah and Sheila started to turn but could do nothing as a pair of ghasts grabbed the Elfish man by the arms and yanked him from the group. He didn't go quietly. Even without a weapon, the Bladesinger fell into his dance, hands moving gracefully as he began to murmur.

One second, the creepy man was by the wall, the next, he was in front of Raun. He slashed out at the Elf with suddenly unsheathed claws, raking down face and chest, drawing blood. Raun cried out, eyes blazing, but the man was too quick for him. Their captor struck again.

A low groan escaped Raun as he fell unconscious from the vicious strike. The two ghasts heaved him towards the wall. With a satisfied smirk, the man turned and followed.

Avah groaned but wouldn't turn her head. The pair of women watched in rising horror as Raun was dragged to the wall. The ghasts hissed, clawed hands gripping into Raun's arms, drawing spots of blood.

The man raised one hand. He smiled at the crowd then lowered his hand. His eyes closed in a grotesque emotion of ecstasy as the ghasts threw the Elf at the wall.

Hands reached out and grabbed the prey, pulling him into the heaving flesh.

Screams reverberated as prisoners recoiled in terror. Some retched, one or two fainted, and many began to push back from that repugnant horror. Sheila and Avah were shoved with the crowd, the man's laughter echoing behind them. Long moments passed before the zombies and ghasts regained control of the prisoners and led them back to their cells.

Sheila tried to will the last images of Raun from her mind: the oozing wall of flesh, the waking fear in silver eyes, and then nothing. There was no trace left of the once vibrant young Bladesinger.

As Avah collapsed in tears on the dirty straw of their cell, Sheila slid her hand over the hidden lock picks. Her mind raced. They would have to escape at the first opportunity.

xxx

Nausea overcame Hank and he had to turn away from the sight. Beside him, Raevonn sank slowly to the floor, eye wide and staring at nothing. Timothy covered his mouth with a shaking hand, fighting his own urge to vomit. Sensing the distress, Fritz whimpered from his place on the floor.

The sounds of prisoners being shoved back into their cells filled the corridor.

Only second passed before the dog showed enthusiasm. His old eyes lit up as he whimpered, not towards the door but in the direction of the window.

Frowning at the dog's unusual display, Hank turned back to the window, dreading the sight of that wall. He looked out. There was no sign of the undead. Even that vampire was nowhere in sight. Hank looked down at the excited dog then back outside.

"Presto-" he suddenly recalled that the couple on the roof might still be out there. Varla, too, had escaped. Hank looked back at the dog and outside. It would be a risk, but they would have to take that risk. "Raevonn, Timothy, help me."

The others painfully joined him, pushing aside their horror and grief.

"Hank?" Timothy asked.

Hank nodded. "Help me get Fritz out the window," he said. The dog was fluffy but that was mostly fur. He hadn't had time to put any weight back on since they'd rescued him the night before. Hank knelt to scoop his arms under the dog's torso, ignoring his hurting chest.

Raevonn slipped her arms under the dog's belly, heaving him as Timothy began to lift his haunches. Hank guided them, bringing Fritz to the window where the dog scrabbled for a foothold on the cold stones. Finally, he gained purchase and Fritz squeezed through the iron bars, panting in effort.

"Good boy," Hank encouraged.

When to dog was on the other side of the bars, he tumbled to the ground. No one seemed to notice the yelp Fritz let out. The dog looked up, lifting his injured paw and looking up at the Ranger who'd saved him. The dog seemed suddenly lost and confused.

"Find Varla, Fritz." Hank called as softly as he could but kept his voice encouraging. "Good boy, find help. Get help." He gestured out the window at the rise they had been captured on. Fritz turned his head to look. He lifted his nose and sniffed. Tail beginning to wag, the dog looked at Hank, let out a yip, then turned and limped eagerly towards the rise. He'd caught a friendly scent.

Inside the cell, Hank turned, back to the wall, and slid down the stone. Sinking onto the floor, the Ranger turned to his companions. "We can hope he gets free and brings help." The others joined him in the waiting. Silence fell over the prison.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Eight:


	28. The Rescue

Title: The Rescue

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 28 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence, sexual innuendoes, undead

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Diana- 23 going on 24; Dekion- 33 going on 34; Bobby- 17; Sheila- 23; Eliavah- adult; Presto- 23; Ayisha- 23

Summary: When the rescuer needs rescuing all hell breaks loose.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Shading her eyes, Diana scanned the compound just below their vantage point. A four-story building stood next to a long, low one-story stone structure. Dozens of people crowded outside the low building facing what seemed to be a grotesque tapestry rippling in the hot breeze. She dropped her hands and turned to Dekion. "No sign of those light flashes."

"No clouds. That was not lightning," he agreed. He was watching the group in the prison courtyard, trying to count heads. The Celestial Knight shook his head at the numbers. There was no way to know how many remained inside the prison, either.

Diana turned her attention to the opposite rise. She scanned the cliff with surprise. A lone figure slowly climbed down the rocky surface. The Acrobat kept her eyes on the figure as she touched her companion's arm. "Dekion, look opposite."

He obeyed, his surprise evident as his muscles tensed under her hand. "The fool!" His voice sounded harsh with worry. "Does he know what waits for him here? This is a stronghold of the undead!"

"And orcs?" Shock coursed through the woman at the sight of two cartloads of orcs disembarking in front of the prison. She lifted her hand in an unconscious gesture of surprise.

"Orcs?" Dekion took his eyes off the figure half down the cliffs to scan the prison yards. "Lady Diana," he lay a hand on her arm, drawing her attention back to the rear courtyard, "they are moving the prisoners again. Only one redhead is among them."

"Sheila?" Diana sought the figure with the flame-colored hair but couldn't be sure the woman in brown was her friend. She hadn't seen Sheila in almost six years; they were no longer the teenagers of back then. What changes would the other woman have gone through?

Dekion shook his head. "I cannot be certain, but the possibility is high."

Glancing again at the long figure making his way to the prison, Diana frowned. "At least he's keeping low." She couldn't identify much about the man except that he was dressed in brown and wore some sort of helmet. He seemed stocky and muscular.

The pair watched without further comment as the last prisoner was guided inside. The orcs pushed their way through the front door of the squat prison, accompanied by a tall red-haired man who moved slowly afterwards, trailing the orcs. Finally the courtyards were empty and silent.

"Still no sign of the pair from before?" Diana scanned the compound, the figure in brown, and the grotesque wall creeping down towards the valley.

"None," her companion affirmed. "They disappeared as soon as we topped the rise. Perhaps they were responsible for the light flashes?" He turned blue eyes to meet chocolate ones.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I'd say not, but it's possible. I could have sworn those flashes were Hank's arrows." She shook her head, pursing her lips. "It's been too long since I've seen anything, especially the others' weapons." Diana looked back to the prison, swinging the conversation back to the enemy they'd been observing. After long minutes, she looked back at Dekion. "So, those are the flunkies: zombies, ghasts, and orcs. Wonder where the top guy is?"

Her companion made a sound low in his throat. A moment later, he said, "that is unclear. It is possible he was the one making the speech. Or he is that man with the orcs." The Celestial Knight frowned, puzzling through the problem. "I am inclined to think we've not seen him yet. He would need to be able to control undead. Why would he make speeches to prisoners?"

Diana nodded. She eased her tense back and shoulders, rolling her head first one way to the other. Their normal playful banter of past spy missions was gone. This time, Sheila's life hung on the line, and neither felt like making jokes. "Now what, Dekion?"

"Now we wait." Dekion lifted his hand from Diana's arm. "It is unlikely orcs will remain long with the undead."

"Unless they're prisoners, too." She dismissed that option as quickly as she voiced it. "But there were no guards on them-allies then."

Dekion nodded, watching the lone man once again. Startled, the Celestial Knight straightened, his voice tight. "Shall we save him from his folly or allow him to meet those orcs and their undead counterparts?"

She groaned.

The man moved cautiously enough, keeping close to the building and peeking in each barred window before moving below the widow range to the next one. After glancing in one about a third of the way to the door, he stopped looking and merely kept low and tight to the stone. The man paused at the door, listening for a moment, then slipped inside.

Diana let out her breath. "We get closer and wait."

"Yes," Dekion agreed, "and plan how to find Sheila in the mass of prisoners. We cannot free them all."

"If Amber got through, our own troops should be here soon." Diana glanced down at the vast amount of beings camped in the valley below. She frowned. "As long as we can keep the guards too busy to kill prisoners, they'll be safer in there until the battle's over."

The brown-haired man nodded and stood. "We move closer, Lady Diana. If that is the man sent by Amber to rescue Sheila, he'll need help."

Standing, the Acrobat carefully made her way down the cliff-side, leading Dekion. Thankfully, he still had not put on the armor he normally wore; it was too noisy for stealth work. After this mission, perhaps she would suggest a switch to leather for him. Smiling at the image, Diana pressed against the fort wall and, imitating the man before them, made her way stealthily towards the prison, Dekion right behind.

xxx

Not letting the unexpected appearance of a troop of orcs deter him, Bobby began to climb down the cliff to the east of the prison. He'd only allowed himself a brief glance at the horde of prisoners being herded from the back courtyard. He didn't look for Sheila, afraid the sight of her after so many years would distract him. Bobby wasn't worried about recognizing his sister; he was certain he'd never mistaken her for anyone else.

Once on a level with the buildings, the Barbarian pressed up close to the wall. He took creeping steps, trying to make as little noise as possible. Club held firmly in his right hand, kept carefully away from the building, Bobby slowly stepped to the first window.

A large room with tables and benches sat dark and dusty. It must have served as a dining room in days past, when the guards had needed to eat. Bobby ducked under the window and headed for the next cell. He peeked in the second window and noticed three or four people huddled on the dirty straw on the flooring. He lowered himself below the window line again and moved beyond that window, making sure his horned helmet stayed below the frame.

By the fifth window, Bobby wondered how much of the prison he'd have to check before finding her. He pressed his lips together into a grim line: all of them if necessary. '_Sheila won't spend another night in here_,' he promised himself.

The seventh window revealed what he sought: a red-haired woman with her arms wrapped around what was possibly a child or small teen. The woman made no noise, but he still knew her on sight. Bobby pulled down below the window before the pair could spot him.

He began to creep under the window line, not bothering to check any more cells but counting them. As he counted, Bobby reviewed what he'd seen: a bare room with dirty straw; a solid looking door with barred window; and Sheila holding that child. The Thief's hair had hung tangled down to her waist, half her face was swollen and bloody, her eye caked shut with dirt and blood. Someone had hurt Sheila.

Bobby would make him pay for that.

Fingers tingling, Bobby realized he'd let his anger get the better of him. He relaxed the grip on his club and began to breathe slowly, forcing himself to calm down. If he was going to save Sheila, he needed a clear head.

At the twenty-second window, Bobby blinked back surprise, embarrassed by how long he'd been wrapped up in his thoughts. If someone had wanted to jump him, the Barbarian would have been an easy target. He clenched his jaw and took another deep breath. The door was next and he wanted to be prepared for those orcs-and the undead he'd seen in the back.

Slowly he peered around the partly opened door, ready to hide. With a frown he watched orcs disappearing towards the far end of the corridor. They carried packs and flasks. Ah! The orcs were going to eat in that old dining room. Bobby smiled and slipped into the hall as the last orc disappeared from view. He kept his steps soft, shuffling slightly like a zombie in a horror movie. Counting, he began to look for the room he needed.

xxx

Lying flat on the roof of the prison, Ayisha controlled her breathing, keeping it light and measured. Her hand grasped Presto's shoulder and she refused to remove her grip for fear of not finding him again. Just after they'd gotten onto the roof and laid down for safety, she'd noticed she couldn't see the man she held. Ayisha hadn't questioned the invisibility spell he must have managed; she was too distracted by what happened.

Three golden arrows lit the sky in quick succession, drawing the attention of the hidden pair. Ghasts quickly retreated while Hank and his companion climbed the rise to the west of the fort. A dog lumbered up behind them.

"No! Hank-" Presto moaned beside her, the muscles of his arm shifting under her hand.

The Magician kept his eyes on the rise, his heart varying between lurching and clenching. He couldn't see her, but even after all these years, he could feel Varla nearby. Thankfully, she wasn't hurt; he was certain he'd have felt an injury.

Quickly, Presto glanced towards Ayisha to flash an encouraging smile. Golden eyes widening, he realized he couldn't see her, though she was gripping his arm. "Ayisha?"

"Yes, Albert?" she replied quietly right next to him, still unseen.

Presto smiled but intense barking drew his attention back to that western cliff and the Magician groaned. The ghasts had returned along with that creepy guy. Fingering his hat, mind racing to find a spell, Presto resisted the age-old temptation to just throw any spell out there and hope for the best. He'd learned years ago that his hat needed specifics not wishes.

Ayisha could hear the change in Presto's breathing. Squeezing his arm lightly, she forced calm into her voice and said, "concentrate. You've done well with this invisibility. You can do it again."

"Invisibility?" Presto shook his head. "I didn't do this, Ayisha. I haven't cast anything yet."

"Then how. . ." she stopped, eyes widening in horror, "Albert-"

He gulped. "Yeah, I see."

The ghasts had won. They flew their prisoners, all three bloody and banged up, to the prison right below Presto and Ayisha. The ghasts worked in groups and were fortunately distracted by their work. The man that had been with the ghasts was nowhere to be seen and that was worrying.

The pair waited silently, watching. Nothing more happened for a few minutes.

"If you didn't cast the spell, who did, Albert?" Ayisha broke the silence. Her voice sounded worried.

With a soft smile, reflected in his light voice, Presto answered simply, "Varla."

Before she could question him further, sounds of mass movement came from the prison. The prisoners were guided back into the rear courtyard, herded like animals. The zombies gave off an eerie vibe; they were barely under control from the interrupted feeding frenzy of earlier-especially as the zombies hadn't had a chance to kill.

A shudder ran through Presto then Ayisha, as if transmitted through his arm to her hand. Both scanned the prisoners intently. Finally, as the large group stood or leaned on each other near the living wall, the Magician whispered, "I see Sheila but not Hank or his friend. No dog either."

"There's the vampire," Ayisha whispered back.

Her companion nodded in response, despite being unseen; he'd learned about the elusive Eastern vampire while living with the Kadish Caravan. The risk level had just ratcheted up a few notches with the advent of one of those beasts. Horror froze the breath in the Magician. He couldn't look away as he listened to the vampire's genial tone, despite knowing that the vampire's hypnotism could be deadly. The ginger-haired man on the roof frowned as the vampire continued in his matter-of-fact introduction of the prisoners to the abominable hell: the Wall of Souls. When the silver-haired Elf was thrown into the unholy construct, Presto closed his eyes.

Ayisha burrowed her face in Presto's shoulder, instinctively finding his comfort despite the invisibility illusion. She drew in a deep breath of the scent of the man beside her. He smelled of sweat and dirt and fear, but not of the death and decay this cursed land reeked of. She breathed deeply again.

Finding her hand, Presto laced his fingers with hers. He could hear her breath, feel her against his neck, and it brought some peace to his roiling thoughts. He opened his eyes. Holding Ayisha's hand, he watched as the prisoners moved inside, their guards pushing and pulling them along.

The unexpected sound of carts at the front of the prison alerted the couple and they turned cautiously on the roof.

"Orcs, too?" Presto whispered.

Narrowing brown eyes, Ayisha watched a figure in light brown with horned helmet climb down the east cliff-face. The man looked no more than an older teen, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, and was built as strong as any of the men in her father's caravan. She didn't say a word as he snuck by slowly and finally into the front prison door. She frowned. "Who was that?"

Presto looked at the spot her voice had come from then sighed. "I'd have said Bobby by the look of that helm and club, but Bobby went back to Earth years ago." He bit his lip and continued to watch the door: waiting, planning.

xxx

Sheila slipped an arm around her now quiet cellmate. Avah had cried until the sound of the zombies died away then she fell silent, still. Worried, Sheila bent down to Avah's face and whispered, "Avah?"

The Elf's voice was low and tired. "How will we get out?" She heaved a sob then wiped a dirty hand over her nose. Avah lifted sea-green eyes to stare into Sheila's teal ones.

Again, Sheila touched her boot. Softly, she asked, "do prisoners arrive every night?"

"No," the Bard wiped her sleeve across her face this time, but the Thief could hardly scold her for it. They didn't have handkerchiefs.

"And what about the troops camped in the valley?" Sheila asked.

At that the Elf lifted her face again. "Troops?" She showed genuine interest in the topic. "When did you see troops?"

"Last night," Sheila answered. She opened her mouth to add more but shut it as quickly, listening intently. A noise came from outside the window. It could have been nothing, but Sheila thought she heard a low growl. Without turning, she strained to hear anything more, but the thud of heavy boots in the corridor covered anything from outside.

The sound of metal scraping on metal shrieked through the cell to be replaced with a low snort. Clanging metal sounded then a second attempt at unlocking the door. This time the guard found the right key for it clicked softly. The door swung open.

Sheila shuddered then straightened her back, glaring. Surrounded by orc mercenaries, King Varen stood nonchalantly in the doorway. His face slipped into a lascivious grin as he took in Sheila's torn clothes.

The Thief pushed her companion behind her, ignoring Avah's gasp as her lash wounds reopened from the rough handling. Sheila stood, flinging her hair from her face, ignoring as it swished over her back and hips. She didn't speak, merely glaring at the man who'd imprisoned her.

Turning to his orc guards, the man frowned. "Leave us. Go eat in the old dining hall." As the orc with the keys began to shut the cell door, Varen's voice rose in an indignant command, "no, you fool! I won't have those brain-rotted corpses locking me in if you shut the door. Leave it open. I'll call when you're wanted."

With a grunt, the orc swung the door all the way open but left the keys dangling, one key in the lock. He joined his compatriots in carrying packs and flasks towards the eastern end of the prison. Their footsteps quickly died away.

Varen turned back to Sheila and stepped into the room further. He licked his lips. "Well, my beauty. You've seen what your fate can be." He grinned and put his hands on his wide leather belt, feet spread in a stance of confidence, superiority. "You may change your mind now and I will grant you favor. Come to my bed." Varen reached out to touch Sheila's flame-colored hair.

"Leave my sister alone."

The low baritone sounded no louder than any conversational tone for all the menace it held. None-the-less, the power behind the words leant a quality to the threat that promptly drew three sets of eyes.

In the doorway was a blond youth in brown with leather harness and horned helmet. His blue eyes blazed anger. Muscles rippled through his chest, arms, and thighs as he smacked a club against his left palm. "I said," his eyes narrowed, "don't touch my sister." Without giving the surprised older man time to release Sheila's hair, Bobby raised his club and tapped King Varen on the side of the head. For all the deceptive gentleness of the act, real strength lay behind his strike.

Varen crumpled in a heap on the dirty straw, having never uttered a sound.

Sheila blinked at the teen before her, mouth hanging open in wonder. Hesitantly, thinking her own injuries might have caused delusions, she asked, "Bobby?"

Bobby grinned. "I'm back. Boy, Sis, you made it real hard to tag along this time."

She blinked, a hand reaching out to touch Bobby's wrist. With a sob, she yanked her little brother into her arms, crying onto his shoulder as her arms moved convulsively into hug after spastic hug. "Robert Richard O'Neil, you are the most beautiful sight I've ever seen!"

The young man gave his sister a brief hug then struggled out of her surprisingly strong grip. "Quit slobbering on me, Sis." His gentle tone belied the harsh words, and she smiled as he set her away from him. "We gotta get outta here, Sheila. Let's go."

Nodding, Sheila stood and tugged Avah to her feet.

Bobby didn't look surprised by the inclusion of the petite Elf-certainly not a child with that body. Hiding his flush at the untimely observation, the Barbarian peeked into the hall and signaled the others to precede him quickly.

They slipped into the hall, none of the trio daring to look at the cells of prisoners they couldn't help. As Avah took the lead, Bobby in the rear, the youth quietly shut the cell door. Sheila grinned and privately hoped the man would get locked in by accident; Avah's smug approval showed she shared the redhead's vindictive desire.

By the time the trio came close to the front entrance, they could only be glad no other prisoner had set up a clamor of protest. Either nobody watched or they were pleased to have at least one group escape. Unfortunately the third option, that the zombie guards had returned, was the reason.

Bobby growled and raised his club, but Avah grabbed his arm in both of her hands. "No! Give up quietly and they won't go in a feeding frenzy." Real fear tinged her voice.

The teen lowered his club, blue eyes locked with sea-green. His low baritone relayed his suspicion as he said "you better be right."

"Avah is," Sheila affirmed as she allowed the zombies to lead her back down the hall. Frustrated, she acknowledged to herself that she should have known they'd be making rounds again. She had forgotten to keep track of the time.

Her brother followed obediently as did the Elf.

The zombies led them to a different cell, closer to the exit but facing the Wall of Souls this time. It was a small satisfaction when Avah pointed to their old cell and told the guards "he's trying to escape. He unlocked the door." With a click, the zombies locked them in then proceeded to lock King Varen in the room he lay in as well, removing the solid key from the old lock. The three prisoners waited, listening as the zombies once more retreated, rounding the corridor and continuing on their pre-ordered duties.

"Boy, are they stupid," Bobby grunted, satisfied. He hefted the club they'd left with him, tapping it against his hand solidly. "They never even took my club."

The Bard nodded, looking through the door's window. "They'll come back soon. If you don't fight, those guys don't bother looking for weapons. Their orders are limited." She turned, pushing a lank clump of hair from her grubby face then her eyes widened at the sight of Bobby's club. It glowed very faintly yellow. "Is that Freystrum's Thunder Club?"

"Huh?" Bobby frowned and looked at the _Weapon of Power_. "Who's he?"

"Not now, Avah," Sheila shook her head, interrupting. "After we escape, we'll listen to all your tales."

Bobby grinned. "Yeah, let's get outta here." He lifted the club in both hands, prepared to knock down the wall.

"No!" His sister's harsh whisper brought him up short. "Quietly, Bobby, or the zombies will frenzy. We couldn't get everyone out before the killing starts." She slid her fingers into the top of her right boot.

He frowned, glancing at his club, and lowered it. The glow stopped. "I can't knock down the door quietly, Sheila." '_Great, treating me like a kid again. Just what I wanted_,' he thought bitterly.

Sheila pulled a leather packet from her boot with a smile. "We don't have to knock it down when we can open it." She moved to the door, unfolding the oiled leather and revealing several slender pieces of metal of varying shapes.

Bobby watched, confused. "Huh?"

Choosing two, Sheila folded the rest back into the packet and slid them into her boot once more. Slipping first one rod then the other into the old lock, she began to carefully twist and turn them. "I _am_ a thief, Bobby. Keep an eye out for guards. They like to bang on the door to scare us and I don't want to break one of these."

"A thief?" echoed Bobby and looked at the Elf with a pained frown.

"Don't ask me," she shrugged at him. "I only met her last night. I had no idea she was hiding those."

Sheila ignored them.

Keeping his frown, Bobby none-the-less looked out the door's window. He asked softly," so, when'd you decide you liked being the Thief? I thought you hated it?"

She sighed, her fingers patient, methodical in their delicate task. "A lot of rust here," she said as if that answered some unspoken question. "I didn't decide I like being a thief. I decided I had to learn. I was made the Thief for a reason so I finally stopped fighting it." She glanced at her frowning brother and sighed again, looking back at the lock. "A long time has passed, Bobby."

"Yeah," he grumbled, "ain't it just?"

Puzzled, Sheila gave a quick glance at the teen before resuming work once more.

xxx

"Okay, he's had long enough." Diana's whisper broke the tension that had been building. She stood, stretching her lithe body to work out any kinks from just sitting around. She trusted Dekion to warn her if an enemy approached.

The sound of a groan and shuffling feet from the other side of the door brought both companions to full alert. Voices, too low to make out what they said, came next. After only moments all sound behind the door faded.

Diana looked at Dekion. "Time to go in." She pulled her javelin from her waistband, extending it to its six foot fighting length. She prayed it wouldn't surge as it had the day before.

"Wait, Diana." The soft, light voice came from the roof.

She looked up but saw no one.

"Who is there?" Dekion's deeper tones almost reverberated as he unsheathed his Sword of Light.

A husky contralto jumped in. "Ayisha and Presto. Friends of Diana's. You won't see us."

Dekion scanned the roof anyway. "Presto? A friend of mine as well and a brave man. Why hide from us?" Actually, the Celestial Knight was testing the unseen pair, not trusting on word alone in this hellish land.

Presto snorted. "We're not hiding from _you_, Dekion. We're hiding from the vampire, ghasts, zombies, and orcs. We're invisible."

As no one had spoken the older man's name within hearing of the compound roof, Dekion relaxed. He now believed the Magician he once knew had not only mastered invisibility but arrived exactly when he was needed.

Diana smiled. "Good trick, Presto." She'd seen the other enemies readily enough so seized on the one she hadn't identified. "What do you mean vampire?"

"He is the spokesman." Ayisha again answered for the two of them. "You need be careful, My Sister. He can hypnotize with his voice."

"Now I know you're Ayisha," Diana laughed softly. Only Ramuud's people spoke like that: addressing people as relatives even at first meeting.

Ayisha sounded puzzled. "What makes you believe me, My Sister?"

"No time," Presto interrupted. "Who went in, Diana?"

The Acrobat rocked on her feet, ready for action but more than happy with the appearance of old friends. "I don't know. Amber was supposed to send help. Sheila's been captured."

"We know," Presto said. "Amber sent _us_. There are about twenty orcs in the east room and maybe two hundred prisoners, including Sheila and Hank."

Diana stiffened. "Hank's in there?"

In a soft voice, Dekion added, "which is why we saw no more arrows, Lady Diana."

He didn't say it out loud, but Presto would have recognized the Celestial Knight by his words if he hadn't already seen the other man's face. "Look, Sheila's hurt and she's been taken to that wall once already. I'm pretty certain she's in some real danger. A man she was with was killed this morning."

"We saw," said Diana, voice soft.

Presto continued, "we haven't seen Hank since the vampire captured him." His voice caught as he recalled what Hank was doing to get caught: protecting Presto and Ayisha. "I'd say Sheila's the better choice to break out of there."

Dekion frowned and looked around, noticing a glint of bright light from down in the valley. Someone down there had polished armor, vain buffoon. He'd be an easy target in war. Drawing his mind back from the irritating distraction, Dekion looked back at Diana. "We rescue Sheila and get her to safety then we come back for Hank."

She didn't like it, but he was right. They could only chance one rescue at a time. "So," Diana looked back at the apparently empty roof, "what's the plan, Presto?"

In the old days, he would have been self-conscious and deferred to the stronger leaders. But six years of learning to operate and lead a vast caravan had served Presto well. His sense of self-worth had grown, nurtured by Ramuud's trust and his own successes. The Magician didn't hesitate to state his mind. "Ayisha and I will cover out here while you and Dekion take out the zombies inside. The ghasts are out here, and I'll try to neutralize those orcs, too. Just keep an eye out for the soul sucker. We didn't see where he disappeared to."

"Soul sucker?" Diana frowned, unfamiliar with various types of vampires.

"Yes," Ayisha's steady voice came to them clearly. "He is a psi. He feeds on the life energy not life blood. He is an Eastern vampire. Daylight and silver do not affect him."

"There's also a guy in blue armor, though I only saw him briefly," Presto added. His voice sounded almost vacant; he already planned the spells he would use, his momentary lapse in concentration over.

Impressed, Diana reminded herself that Presto would certainly have grown up in six years. She just hadn't thought about that aspect of the long separation of the _Children of Power_. With a nod, she called out. "Got it. Wait," she hissed, her voice dropping low. She heard noise from the other side of the door again: shuffling, groaning, and worried whispers.

Sheila's voice called down the hallway, "Avah, be careful." The groan of zombies followed her friend's voice. Sheila had apparently broken out of her cell and made it almost to the door before she and her friend had been caught a second time.

Gripping her javelin, Diana nodded to Dekion, sword drawn. "Hey, Sheila, you guys might want to cover your eyes," Diana called.

Puzzled at the unexpected sound of Diana's voice outside the door, but trusting their friend, Bobby and Sheila brought a hand up to cover their eyes. Avah was slow to respond, instead backing against the wall, eyes widening. She raised her hand heartbeats after the others, too late.

Diana grinned, her voice strong as she said, "Alright, Dekion, let's light this place up!" Placing the tip of her javelin on the ground, she sprang into the air from a standing start. Her partner swung the heavy door fully open as he ducked under the flying Acrobat. With one brief glance for the placement of her allies, Diana shut her eyes.

As she passed overhead, Dekion shot to his feet and lifted his sword. Closing his eyes, he let it light up as bright as a starburst in the confines of the hallway. He gripped the door with his free hand so he wouldn't get turned around in the blinding brilliance.

Landing directly on one of the zombies, Diana raised her javelin and started spinning it in the air. She relied on instinct honed from years of blindness to aid her in landing her targets. "Keep to the ground, Sheila!" she called in warning.

Sheila dropped to the ground, covering her head with her hands, still squeezing her eyes shut. She heard Bobby's "oof" next to her as he hit the ground. Blinded, Avah didn't make a sound and the Thief worried the Bard had been hit.

Seeing the brilliant flash from the building below him, Presto straightened and lifted his hat, flicking it open. He lifted a hand and moved his fingers in a sweeping gesture, ending with a cut off downwards as he spoke clearly:

_Ice from the North_  
_Meet waves of the South_  
_With winds in the East_  
_Seal Western cave mouths_

While purple light burst from his hat, a strong cold wind blew in from the eastern rise above the prison. Hail and rain swept through the air, barely missing the pair on the roof. Presto remained standing, legs braced apart as he made his arcane signal again, guiding the spell towards the western crevices where the ghasts hid. He could feel Ayisha lying next to his feet, holding his right leg for security. With a third repeated gesture, the ice-laden rain storm glittered and froze over the crevices and cavern openings.

Presto smiled, briefly allowing himself a feeling of triumph. Those ghasts would get out but not immediately. He turned to the eastern side of the prison and dropped to the hot stone slab roof. "Grab both my legs, Ayisha. I'm going over."

The desert princess didn't argue. She wrapped her strong hands around his legs, going completely on feel since the invisibility held. Aiding her friend, she lowered him, upside down, over the edge of the roof towards the dining room window.

_Days to nights_  
_Lights to darks_  
_Wake to snooze_  
_Sleeping orcs_

It wasn't his best spell, but Presto did better conjuring than entrancing. Fortunately, he'd been specific enough that his hat seemed to get it. The purple glow came back and Presto waved the light toward the window in front of him. It obeyed and seeped in through the bars to swirl around the orcs inside.

Unfortunately, some of the orcs looked towards the source of the strange light. Their eyes widened at the sight of a man with glasses dangling upside down in the window. With a roar, turning into yawns and grumbles, they stood and headed towards the door of the east wall.

Presto groaned. "Pull me up, Ayisha! The illusion's gone!"

Ayisha began pulling Presto up, grasping his calves then thighs, hand over hand. She ignored the tension-tightened muscles, hurrying to pull the now visible man to the roof. Her arms ached as she struggled; Presto was heavier than he looked, the slim figure deceptively hiding strong muscles. She got to his waist and wrapped her fingers into his waistband, yanking hard as he pushed against the stone wall.

The pair flew backwards, landing in a heap on the roof. Presto groaned and rolled off Ayisha. She grunted but didn't complain, rolling to her feet and pulling the Sonar Sword in one smooth motion. Presto rose at a slower pace. They watched as the door opened and two orcs staggered out sluggishly then fell down, others stumbling over them and not getting up. The spell had done its job.

The front door swung wide, the brilliant flash of Dekion's sword faded and the living group began to fight through to escape. Diana slammed her javelin backwards into one zombie while Bobby, on the floor, swept the legs out from under another. Sheila, arm wrapped around Avah, guided her towards the exit. A zombie tripped over Avah's legs, drawing a yelp from the Bard.

Dekion reached down and pulled the Elf out from under Sheila and off the floor. Without comment, he flung the small woman over his shoulder and ran from the building. He trusted Diana to finish the rescue; this Elf was a liability with her temporarily blinded eyes and bleeding lash wounds. The Celestial Knight headed towards the far end of the fort on the west of the prison.

Sheila pushed from the floor and headed for the door right behind Dekion. She had no depth perception or weapon at the moment and knew her friend and brother would be safer if they didn't have to worry about her. The Thief slid into the sunlight, blinking rapidly and following the quick steps of the brown-haired man in front of her.

Finally free to swing his club, Bobby stood and brought the glowing wood down onto one zombie. He thrust the club sideways, sending another zombie into its neighbor. Grinning, he noticed the yawning doorway and darted for it. "Diana, clear!"

The Acrobat didn't disappoint. She spun her javelin around her waist, slashing into several undead abdomens. Her strong strikes landed time and again as she moved towards the door. Just as she reached the exit, she glanced behind her to gage her enemy.

They were falling back, parting and retreating. A man, dressed well, strode calmly through the strewn bodies. He never removed his eyes from the lovely dark-skinned woman, his paleness striking in the light spilling from the door. He smiled at Diana and held out a hand. "Acrobat. . ."

"Not on your death, buddy!" Diana slipped out the door and put all her strength behind pushing it closed on his congenial laugh.

Bobby doubled-back and ran full-tilt. Letting out a roar, the Barbarian jumped, feet first, towards the heavy oak. He slammed into the door and hit the ground, rolling to his feet. With a wince, he screamed, "go, Diana, go!" The teen limped as quickly as he could behind the fleeing woman.

The vampire did not follow.

On the roof, Presto and Ayisha turned their attention towards an unexpected point of threat: the rough-hewn valley track. A man in shining golden armor, wearing a dragon scale helmet, strode boldly up the path followed by two women bearing packs, heads down.

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Nine: Never Too Late


	29. Never Too Late

Title: Never Too Late

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 29 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence, sexual innuendoes, undead, language

Setting: Autumn 1991: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Eric- 22; Uni- 18 (Elf) but 8 (unicorn); Terri- 17; Amber- adult; Presto- 22; Ayisha- 22; Hank- 22 going on 23; Timothy- 17; Raevonn- adult; Freddie (Fritz)- 9 (assumed)

Summary: Eric and his group finally arrive at the Wall of Souls.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Eric slipped back to the small campfire and the girls he had left there. He sank to the ground, sitting between Uni and Terri, a worried frown on his handsome face. Grabbing his shield, he started checking the leather straps that held it to his arm. They were fine; he just needed to be doing something to clear his thoughts.

Neither young woman commented on their male companion's restlessness. Terri stirred the cooking food, keeping their breakfast from burning, while Uni ran the alicorn absently through her fingers. Perched comfortably on the pile of Eric's armor and their packs, Amber watched the trio with unblinking gold eyes.

Finally, Eric looked at the others and spoke. "If Bobby has brains, he'll have crossed over and scaled one of the cliffs to the west or east last night. There's an army camped in the central valley."

Amber rose and stretched her wings, the morning light gilding her marigold scales a molten gold color. "We expected the army," she said in her lilting voice.

"Maybe _you_ did," Eric said, his tone short. With a sigh, he put down his shield and rose to his feet, bare since he'd had to leave his armored shoes behind during his reconnaissance. "Sorry, Amber. I know you guys were raising an army but I just didn't picture what they'd be fighting." He ran a tanned hand through his shoulder-length black hair.

Terri stopped stirring and pulled the pot of stew from the fire. She silently filled four bowls, one smaller than the others, and handed them round. When she gave Eric his, last, denim blue eyes met brown-black ones. Her voice was quiet, steady, as she asked, "and what will they be facing, Eric?"

Taking the bowl from the younger woman, the twenty-two year old sighed. Blowing on the reheated stew, he glanced towards the valley beyond the rise above them. "Orcs with pikes," he said, "men with swords and lances, horses in barding, goblin archers, and a pack of wolves so far."

"Wolves?" Uni's head shot up and her maroon eyes widened. Her grip tightened on the alicorn.

The Cavalier nodded his dark head, lifting a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Before eating it, he softly said, "yeah. Kalek's here."

Uni swore softly then put the alicorn in her lap. She lifted her bowl from the ground and began to eat carefully; she didn't want to burn her mouth. The former unicorn refused to look at her partners, mind racing over the implications that the man who'd tried to murder the last unicorn herd was among the collected enemy.

Lowering his spoon, Eric lightly shoved Uni's shoulder with his own. "What's up, Kid?" He purposely lightened his voice to a teasing tone. He hated Uni introspective and morose.

She looked at him, sunlight striking sparks of fire in her red hair. Pushing the long mass from her pale face, she said, "I don't think I want to meet with Kalek. That wizard is evil."

He couldn't help it. Eric let out a sharp, if quiet, laugh. "That whole damned army's evil, Uni!" He shot her a grin and was relieved when she hesitantly smiled back.

"Damned is right," Amber piped up. "There's zombies, ghasts, and wraiths involved according to some of the information we've gotten.

Terri shuddered, putting her bowl on the ground. She'd lost her appetite. Lifting troubled eyes, she looked to Eric in the absence of the much-preferred strength of Bobby. "Dead things? I thought that was exaggeration."

The Faerie Dragon corrected, "undead."

The seventeen year old shook her head, black ponytail swinging agitatedly. "I don't care what they're called. I sure don't want to meet them. I think we need to get in there and out before night falls again!" She stood, rubbing her hands down her soft trousers, wet streaks appearing as she rubbed the sudden sweat into the cloth.

Eric reached over and pulled Terri down beside him once more. He wrapped a strong arm around her and gave a brief squeeze before letting the teen go. His light baritone was soothing as he said, "it's not like those B-movies back on Earth, Terri. In the Realm, the undead walk during the day, too. Rest. Eat. I have no plans of meeting up with any creeps."

She looked at him, an unspoken argument in her eyes. Finally, with a sigh, she picked her bowl up and started toying with the spoon. "Eric, I hate it here. I'm always so scared."

The man looked at her over his bowl, spoon in his mouth. He smiled before removing it, swallowing and grinning wider. "Terri, you think I'm not scared? If I was standing, my knees would give out." His voice sounded playful, not frightened in the least. "You forget which _Child of Power_ you're dealing with here. I'm the Cavalier, remember: the one who hides behind a shield while everyone else does the real fighting?" He seemed unaware that his voice had turned bitter as he dropped his spoon into his empty bowl, his smile fading. "I'm the one DM didn't feel rated a real weapon." He looked at her, his grin twisted now. "Even the nine year old got a weapon, but good ol' Eric gets a shield so he can run and hide."

Uni snorted, sounding more equine than Elfish. When both her human companions turned to her in surprise, she let out a small derisive laugh. "I guess Sheila'd feel the same way then? All she had was a cloak that made her disappear. At least you can run into the middle of battle without fear of being hurt. You can jump in front of people. You can. . ."

Eric's snicker alerted Uni to her mistake. Her long-term companion had been using his legendary sarcasm and bitterness to distract Terri from her fear; she wouldn't have known he'd changed from the old self-centered Eric. Frowning, the redhead shook her head. She thought she'd figured out when Eric was making one of his derisive jokes, but he continued to surprise her. With a glare, she lifted her eyes and said, "Myeah, some coward, Airk. You protect others with little thought for yourself. Stop whining for attention."

He laughed, covering his mouth quickly to muffle the sound. They weren't too close to the valley encampments, but he didn't relish possible scouts finding them.

Terri looked from Uni to Eric and back to Uni. She couldn't understand how Uni had figured Eric was joking about being bitter over his lack of a weapon. It was exactly how she felt after all. She had a pendant, hardly a weapon of mass destruction.

Golden light lit Terri's eyes, blurring the denim blue into a bright golden luminescence. Her locket glowed in equal golden brilliance. The world faded around her.

_In the skies overhead, several figures clashed, diving and climbing in aerial combat. To the far west hung a large metallic object and to the far right a figure in blue armor rode astride a black stallion with flames for mane and tail. Nearby the skeletal body of a dragon swooped, radiating unholy evil. Across the middle of the valley flew a giant bird of prey, brown and white, the tall brown-haired rider lying low on the bird's back. A five-headed dragon burst into the sky surrounded by a bright white light, screaming her defiance at the world._

"Yo, Terri! Wake up, Girl!"

The girl blinked her eyes, the gold fading once more to a darkened blue, her body shaking. A moment later she realized that her body was _being_ shaken; Eric firmly gripped both of her shoulders and shook her rapidly as he called to her.

"Wake up, Terri!"

"I-" she shook her head and looked up at him, "I'm awake, Eric."

He immediately let her go. "What happened, Terri?" Eric's voice softened, worry ranging through it. His eyes were full of the same concern.

Uni laid a hand on Terri's arm but the brunette hardly noticed. Instead, she answered, "I saw something: a huge bird and a flaming horse and a skeleton dragon and a five-headed dragon in the skies overhead." She blinked and reached up a hand to touch the still-warm locket at her throat. "I think I saw the future."

Eric frowned at that. He took time choosing his words. "I thought you weren't supposed to have any more future dreams."

Terri nodded, placing a hand on his knee. "I can't." At the man's confusion, she added, "it's okay, Eric. Dungeon Master explained that I see the future while awake now. My ability is stronger, he says."

"I'd rather have a shield," he shuddered. Taking a deep breath, he stalled her next words by questioning, "so we get to fight Big Bird, Nightmare, Tiamat and her anorexic cousin?"

She couldn't help it; Terri giggled. "Big Bird? Eric, that's silly." She covered her mouth and couldn't resist adding, "Big Bird's too busy learning Spanish to fight here. And he wasn't fighting us. That bird was fighting the horse."

"Good," Uni added, sounding pleased. "That means we'll have an ally in the air."

"While we hide on the ground," Eric added decisively. He shot the girls a grim smile then relaxed to a regular grin. "Now, we have to figure out how to break our spy out of the prison on the hill-oh, and how to avoid all those undead-and how to get by that army without being captured." He shook his head and reached for one of his armored shoes. "It would sure help if we knew what the spy looked like. All we know is that it's a woman, right?" He looked up and all movement froze as he caught Amber's serious look.

"Sheila has waist-length red hair and big green-blue eyes. She wears a brown dress," the Faerie Dragon offered eagerly.

Three voices united in shock. "Sheila?"

"Oh no," Terri groaned, covering her face with her hands as Uni shook her head and looked worried. Eric grumbled under his breath, his expression dark. Amber looked at her friends in exasperation. "What?"

"Does Bobby know it's Sheila that's captive?" Terri's voice sounded desperate, afraid.

"Yes," Amber replied, looking from one to another of her companions. "But that would be good, right? He's her brother. . ."

"And will kill anyone who hurts his sister if he's grown up the way he was headed as a kid," Eric ground out.

Terri nodded in agreement. "He's been obsessed with coming back and saving her. It's practically all he thought about back home. He started failing school and he quit baseball and. . ."

Eric shoved his other foot in its metal shoe, grimly, all playfulness lost. "Yeah, quitting baseball for Bobby's like giving up my allowance back home. Not good." He looked towards the valley between them and their goal. "We need to get in there before Bobby does something stupid."

"But how to get past that army?" Uni asked softly.

As if to make up for something she'd had no control over, Amber hesitantly offered an answer. "I have a way."

xxx

Voices across the hall drew Hank's attention from the window and the dog, now out of sight. The rough sounds of heavy boots moving restlessly seemed strange after the shuffling noises of the zombies. But a voice was practically unheard of: zombies didn't talk. Hank left the window to move painfully past their discarded armor to the cell door.

A thick-set red-haired man blocked the doorway of the cell directly across, which was wide open. He glared at one of the orcs and told him to leave the door unlocked. The small troop headed towards the far east of the prison corridor. The man turned back to the prisoners in the cell. Unnoticed or unheeded, a second man approached from the southern exit, moving softly towards the other man, most probably one worked for the other.

Disgust welled up in Hank as he heard the man's words. He was propositioning the woman, threatening her with the Wall or sex. The Ranger forced down the anger, though his hands shook. The prisoner couldn't defend herself and that meant the man could force her compliance, an act tantamount to rape in Hank's eyes. Gripping the bars in rising frustration, Hank clenched his teeth, mind racing over possible distractions.

The distraction came in the form of the second man, much to Hank's surprise.

The blond in the helmet never took his eyes off the taller redhead. Instead, he gripped his club and said, calmly but with real menace in his low baritone, "leave my sister alone."

Time seemed to speed up then. The blond attacked the older man and helped the two women escape their cell.

Hank smiled as he realized the prisoner was Sheila. He watched as the trio moved down the hall then groaned when zombies seemed to come out of nowhere, rounding the western bend and easily capturing the escaped women and their would-be rescuer. The man never used his club on them, which was pretty smart to Hank's thinking; he'd seen the frenzy the zombies had gone into earlier when he'd used his bow.

Now they had another prisoner, but the zombies didn't bring the trio back to the opposite cell. Rather, they locked them into a cell closer to where they'd been captured. Hank frowned at the added barrier to communicating with and freeing his long-ago friend. He barely noticed as the zombies locked the unconscious man into the cell across the way: served him right for trying to force himself on a weaker person.

Hank turned back to his own cellmates, noticing the matching frowns on Timothy's and Raevonn's faces. He walked towards them but stopped. Surprise registered in his voice. "Timothy, you've stopped bleeding."

Raevonn snorted and rolled her eyes. "That was the intention of the soothing," she said, though it added little clarity. Using the wall to support her, the Elf sank to the floor slowly, wincing as her legs bent and her ankle shifted against the wall painfully. With a sigh, she looked back to Hank. "I'm in no shape to actually heal someone, but cauterizing is little more than child's play."

"I appreciate it all the same," Timothy smiled at the battered Elf. He carefully slid down next to her, taking care not to reopen the gash on his leg. Turning, he asked, "what's happening out there, Hank?" The Knight feared the dog had been seen.

The Ranger's voice was grim. "Some man came in and tried to threaten Sheila. A blond with a. . . Bobby!" He whirled back to the window, as if he would still see the man who'd failed to rescue the Thief. "Bobby tried to rescue her." Satisfaction welled and he refused to tamp it down. "Her abuser is locked up now."

"Tried?" Timothy asked, warily. "But not succeeded?"

Hank turned and shook his head, frowning once more. "No, zombies on patrol caught the three of them and put them in a cell further down."

The Healer nodded. "At least it was patrol and not clumsiness. Eliavah has enough guilt to bear." She didn't explain her charge nor did the men ask.

Unlike the others, Hank didn't sit on the dirty straw of the cold floor, nor did he lean on the equally chilly stone walls. Since he only wore his trousers and boots, he didn't want to risk the cold. Rather, he moved to the outside cell window, looking to the ghast-occupied crevices. Had the dog made it? Was Varla still free? Was Presto and his friend? Too many questions and not enough answers.

Outside a freezing rain blew over from the east. Shock coursed over the Ranger and he wrapped his arms around himself to try to block the sudden cold. The pair on the floor looked up in surprise but couldn't see as much as Hank: the ice was settling over those crevices and cave mouths. The ghasts were being sealed in! How the. . . ? Presto, of course.

Hank smiled grimly. He looked down at the others and whispered, "Presto's still free, I think. Someone's frozen the ghasts in their caves."

Timothy pumped a hand in the air but didn't let loose the whoop of sudden joy. "Best news all day," he added quietly, grinning widely. "A wizard on our side'll be a good thing. Think he knows we're in here?"

With a snort, Hank moved back towards the cell door, smiling. "I hope so. I did try to save him from that vampire. I think he might have noticed the arrows."

A chuckle escaped the Knight and he fell into a more positive contemplation of their situation.

A born worrier, Hank wished he could be as positive.

He didn't have long to worry as a strong female voice echoed down the hall: "Hey, Sheila, you guys might want to cover your eyes." That voice was familiar, and the warning was implicit.

Quickly, he turned his face from the hallway, closing his eyes. "Close your eyes, guys. Keep them shut." His tone of command brought instant obedience from both the Knight and the Healer, which was fortunate.

The voice called out "Alright, Dekion, let's light this place up!"

Even through his eyelids, Hank could see the bright light emanating down the corridor. Several prisoners gasped as they were blinded by the unexpected radiance. The man across the way began to swear loudly but nobody paid him any mind. Hank grinned to think that the jerk had awoken to being blinded, no matter how temporary. It was just another small justice against a predator.

Sounds of fighting broke through Hank's contemplation and he grinned wider. Whoever the unknown woman was, she was rescuing Sheila and Bobby. Apparently, Varla's friends had come through.

xxx

Sun glinted off his highly polished armor, gilding it gold and deep sapphire, running the length of the great sword's blade. Normally Eric had no problem with being the center of attention. Well, except when he felt everyone was seizing him up for a tasty meal or a hasty rip down. Striding down a cracked rock-strewn road between camps full of orcs, goblins, men, and any number of other enemies reminded him of one of Amelia's, his step-mother's, society parties: everyone seemed to be seizing him up as dinner or desert. He felt even more on edge with the knowledge that he had no clue how to use the stupid sword he carried so blatantly in his right hand. With Amber curled on his head, shining molten golden-orange in the morning light and resembling some hunting trophy, Eric felt he bordered on the over conspicuous.

It was well and good to tell Eric he was the perfect man to play an aristocrat: he'd had the upbringing for it. But it had been years since he'd suffered through one of Amelia's society charity parties as the sole male heir to the Montgomery fortune. Eric had never been entirely comfortable when his parents had trotted him out at those parties and back then all he'd had to face for failure was a lecture on how he never measured up to the Montgomery standard.

Now, there were four lives on the line if he failed.

The girls depended on him to pull this off. Something Pamela, his father's third wife, said to him floated to the fore: '_act like you belong here and no one will dare question you_'. He hoped to God she was right. He stepped forward, shoulders back, head held high, as if he owned the place.

On the man's left and slightly behind walked Terri, Eric's provisions pack on her back and her own, with the net and wand, strapped to her front. Her long black hair lay coiled on top of her head, revealing a graceful neck and straight back, despite her servant's guise. On the right followed Uni, her hair equally styled, her pack on her back and carrying Eric's Griffon Shield, wrapped in his crimson cloak like another pack.

All together, Eric resembled an aristocratic warrior with two very attractive concubines and a right to approach the main fort. As long as he didn't panic. As long as no one wanted to see him use the heavy great sword or know how he managed to kill a Faerie Dragon and turn it into a helmet. The further Eric walked down the road, the more enemies he passed, the more the Cavalier wondered just how long Amber's disguise idea would hold up.

Uni's voice whispered softly from behind him, heartening him. "They look awed."

Terri's response of "and scared," made Eric's back straighten all the more.

He wasn't the fifteen year old boy that had constantly disappointed his father. He was his own man, grown and worth something on his own right. He could do this; he would do this.

At the bottom of the rough hewn rock steps Eric took a deep breath, feeling almost a letdown that it had been so easy. '_Yeah, right, that kind of easy I don't want to repeat_.' He wondered if he should make a show of annoyance at the added labor of a long flight of hand-cut steps. No, a true warrior wouldn't even consider it an obstacle. Besides, Eric had climbed up the side of a mountain hand-over-hand while sick and carrying a terrified Elf on his back. These steps looked easy in comparison, though he didn't like the carvings creeping their way down the cliff-they looked too much like body parts and pain-filled faces. Probably that was what had given this place the name Wall of Souls. Creepy.

Personally surprised no one had challenged them, Terri took the middle position, letting Uni take the rear. Terri had known Eric could be arrogant and commanding, but it was still hard to reconcile her past memory of the whiny scared teen with the confident silent man calmly climbing the cliff steps in front of her. She grew more confident with every step: they'd find Bobby and help rescue Sheila.

At the halfway point, Uni let out a bleat of shock and practically jumped onto Terri's back. The brunette whirled, catching the unsteady redhead with her free hand.

"What the hell, Unit?" Terry frowned; the other young woman looked terrified.

Eric sprinted back down several steps, moving smoothly past Terri to pull Uni into his arms. His left hand cupped the back of her head while he gently forced her face into his shoulder. His voice sounded soft but sure, "calm down, Little Unicorn. I have you." His right hand held the sword, point down, out of danger's way.

Terri shook her head in confusion and moved down a step to give the pair room-and avoid Eric's lethal-looking great sword. "What's wrong with her?"

The former unicorn trembled as she burrowed against Eric.

He looked over Uni's head at Terri. His voice remained just as soft as he answered, "she's afraid of heights. Gets unbalanced." Softly he stroked Uni's neck with gentle fingers.

"Oh," Terri bit her lip and glanced back down the steps they had already climbed. "Don't look down?" she offered, feeling useless.

A trembling of a different sort brought a relieved smile to Eric's face and he shot Terri a thankful grin. "That's right, Little Unicorn. Laugh at Terri." He did not take his eyes from Terri's face as he winked at the brunette but continued to talk to the redhead. "Terri's silly and needs to be put in her place."

Terri covered her mouth with one hand, holding back her own laughter. She idly wondered if Eric had always used his biting wit to control how other people perceived him. Right now he sounded like he was so superior to Terri, but she could tell by his reassuring smile and wink that he didn't mean it; he was merely trying to distract Uni.

The Dreamer looked up the steps; they were halfway there. "Maybe if I walk behind and carry that sword you could lead Uni up the. . . ah!" Terri jumped up a step much as Uni had.

Uni and Eric looked down at her in shock, though Uni immediately groaned and burrowed against Eric again.

"What the hell, Terri?" he unconsciously echoed the seventeen year old's words of earlier. "Damn! Don't pass out on me-" Eric wondered how he was supposed to help both women with only one hand available, and that one stroking Uni's soft skin. He flushed and pushed away the unexpected thought.

"It grabbed me!" Terri choked on a terrified sob and she moved up another step.

Uni whimpered and nodded.

Frowning, Eric looked at the steps but saw nothing out of the ordinary: hand hewn rock lined with grotesque grey-flesh carvings down the right side-he shook his head. "You got caught on the carving?"

The teen glared up at the man fiercely. "No, idiot," she ignored the surprise that widened his dark brown eyes. "The carving grabbed me. And don't you dare tell me I'm imagining things, because I'm not!"

They were fortunately far enough from the valley encampments to be observed too well. The knowledge that the mighty warrior allowed his concubines to yell at him would be incentive enough to challenge the richly dressed human.

Eric didn't argue with Terri though she expected it. Rather, he looked down at the still trembling redhead in his arms. "Uni, did the wall try to trip you, too?"

The slender Elf whimpered her agreement, not looking down that vast rise of steps they'd already climbed and she'd nearly fallen back down. She'd had enough trouble with the cliff steps, but to have the rock carving trying to throw her down the mountain was too much. She refused to let Eric go, thankful that he didn't try to make her.

"Right. Amber," Eric carefully studied the grotesque designs. He could see that they seemed to move, but-

"Yes, Eric?"

"What do you know about this place?" Eric stroked his fingers on Uni's neck again, telling himself he was only trying to soothe her.

The Faerie Dragon kept her voice low as she said, "the wall eats people?"

"Hell!" Eric's shock came out in a near yell. He thrust Uni away from the designed side of the steps towards the plain side; she whimpered in frightened protest. "Terri. . ."

But the brunette had already jumped, checking that the left was truly as innocent as it looked. It never moved.

Eric heaved a frustrated sigh and passed the heavy sword to Terri, who took it without a word. Carefully, he slipped his right arm under Uni's knees and swung her up into his arms, growling, "Amber, you and I need to talk about your love of dramatic reveals." With that, he turned and began to slowly climb the rock stairs, avoiding the dangerous right side. He didn't put Uni down until they'd reached the top and moved a few feet away from that horrific wall. The stench of rotting flesh and human wasted permeated the hot stale air.

Thank goodness he was in shape after the years of living on his own with only Uni. Eric breathed heavily but wasn't winded. He looked over the tall stone fort to the left, west he supposed, and the long L-shaped prison building directly in front, north. Surprisingly, no one came out to challenge them, though two people lay on the roof watching them. Guards?

A large furry brown and grey animal bounded over, limping, dirty and matted. His tongue lolled out, his tail wagged low, and he whimpered, his entire body quivering with joy. His movement drew the small group's attention, and Eric fumbled the cloak from where it was tied to Uni's front, trying to get to his shield.

Terri dropped the great sword as shock coursed through her. She sank to her knees, trembling as much as the dog. "Freddie?" When he yelped in response, she sobbed and threw her arms around the bedraggled dog. "Freddie!"

Hating himself for breaking up the joyous reunion of girl and pet, Eric put a hand to the teen's shoulder. "We've got to get moving, Terri."

"Over here." The soft, feminine whisper drew his attention towards the east of the prison though he couldn't see anyone. "Hurry. The zombies will patrol outside any moment."

Nodding, Eric scooped up the sword with one hand and his shield with the other. Uni grabbed his cloak from in front of her feet and tugged Terri's arm. The younger teen rose, one hand on Freddie's head, as she followed the others to the far side of the prison.

Lowering her hood, Varla revealed herself.

Eric jumped and frowned. "You're not Sheila." He was dead certain of that fact, despite the years since he'd seen his friend. "And why do you have her cloak?" He glanced at the woman's hand, "and Hank's bow?" Before she could answer, he recalled Marinda and Jaref at Ramuud's camp. "Varla?"

Amber happily unwound herself from Eric's head and flew to her favorite perch on the Illusionist's shoulder.

Varla nodded and gestured towards the roof. "No time. They'll come soon. Presto, help us up!"

Four hands immediately came down over the edge of the roof, one set dark the other tanned, both feminine looking. Eric didn't question the hands. He merely grabbed Uni and pushed her up to the waiting darker pair. He grabbed Varla and pushed her at the lighter pair. When both women disappeared over the top, he turned to Terri. "Here, I can get the dog if you get the sword."

She nodded and he thrust the handle at her. She took it. When the hands, four pairs this time, appeared again, Eric picked up Terri without warning and thrust her upward. He scooped up the injured, stinking dog and choked back a gag and pushed the dog high above his head. Two people grabbed the animal, leaving the last set of feminine hands: the tanned ones. Eric grabbed them and walked up the wall as the unknown person pulled.

Once over the edge, he was stunned to find the hands belonged to a tall, slender ginger-haired man with glasses and an overbite. "Presto?"

The Magician laughed softly, hugging his long-time friend. "Be quiet, Eric. Zombies aren't the only things guarding this place." He grinned as he released the startled Cavalier. "Man, am I glad to see you, Eric. When I saw you guys coming, I thought we'd have another fight on our hands." Presto glanced over the group, noting the unfamiliar redhead and brunette, but smiling widely at Amber and Varla.

Varla hugged Presto then turned to hug Eric, too. She looked at the dog and sighed, "and Fritz got out."

"Fritz?" Terri looked up. "His name's Freddie. We got separated years ago." The brunette fumbled in the pack still strapped to her front. "How's this work, Uni?"

"Uni?" Three voices joined in surprise as the Elf knelt to lay the Net of Healing over the dog.

Eric held up his hands. "Yeah. DM turned her into an Elf. Something we've got to fix later." His eyes roved over Varla, still wearing the cloak and holding Hank's bow, to scan Presto in his trousers and tunic, hat tucked into his belt for ready use, to settle on the exotic beauty next to Presto. "Ah, Ayisha, right?"

"Hello, My Brother, it is good to see you again." She hugged Eric lightly then moved on to greet Varla at last. "You hid us earlier, My Sister. I thank you."

Varla smiled shyly at the pretty dark-haired woman.

A soft glow from the net interrupted the greetings. The dog slowly gained strength, his wounds closing and healing even if the blood remained caked in his fur. He sat up, the net falling to the rooftop. Terri threw her arms around him as Uni began to fold the net.

Looking up with a smile for all her re-found friends, Uni softly said, "we still need to rescue Sheila. Did Bobby make it yet? He left before us."

"So," Presto sat on the roof, joined by the others, "that _was_ Bobby we saw." At Terri and Uni's worried looks, he chuckled softly. "He's fine. He's over on the other side of the fort with Sheila, Diana, Dekion if I heard right, and another girl I don't know."

"Dekion's here?" Eric grinned at that bit of luck. He turned to Terri. "Did you see a man on Big Bird? 'Cause if you did, that was Dekion. And, yeah, he's a good guy."

Terri nodded silently as Ayisha mouthed the words '_Big Bird_'.

Varla spoke up. "Hank and Timothy are still in there."

"We've got to get them out," Presto added.

Too familiar with the old Presto and his aborted attempts at magic, Eric held up a hand. "Uni and I will go after Hank and his friend."

Several voices raised in protest, but Terri's was the one that drew Eric's attention. Surprised, he asked, "Terri? If Bobby's free, why'd you want to go in against those undead?"

She paled and stiffened her spine. "Because I'm sick of being afraid." Quickly she laid a hand on Eric's arm. "You're right, Eric-about the shield thing." Her words made no sense to Presto, Ayisha, or Varla, but no one interrupted. "Dungeon Master gave a weapon to a nine year old and a shield to you. But I saw you still do several brave things in the last hour _without_ the shield."

A flush crept up the Cavalier's neck at the unexpected praise.

Terri continued. "I'm not going to let fear dictate to me anymore. I can do this."

Ayisha smiled at Terri in approval and picked up the great sword. "You'll need a lighter weapon, My Sister."

A small laugh escaped the Dreamer, but Varla jumped in. "Don't go in loud or react violently or quickly. It sends the zombies into a frenzy and any that were left from Diana's raid on this prison will be close to frenzy."

"And watch out for the vampire," Presto added. "I'll try to keep the orcs and ghasts busy again."

Eric opened his mouth but Ayisha interrupted him. "Leave the weapon and net here and your packs. You will move quicker that way. "She reached over for Uni's backpack.

Feeling almost overwhelmed by the advice from all sides, Eric briefly wished it was just him and Uni again. He'd grown used to the solitude it seemed. Frowning, the Cavalier helped Terri out of his supply pack then reached into hers and withdrew the wand. He handed it to Varla. "I promised your mother I'd give you a _Weapon of Power_. It chains people so don't aim it at a friend."

"Mother? How. . ."

"They're both fine," Eric said. Holding up a hand, he continued, "Ramuud is bandaged but walking around. Kosar's unhurt. Lorne knocked himself sillier, but Marinda's nursing him. And Jaref has taken over the caravan." He grinned at Varla and Ayisha. "Or at least it seems he did."

"Wow!" Presto laughed, "some class reunion, huh?"

Eric blinked in momentary confusion but Terri laughed into her hand.

Soon the trio was ready. Eric touched Varla's arm. "Stay here, or I'll never hear the end of it from you father. This time he might kill me."

"Oh?" Ayisha's dark eyes flashed in amused curiosity. "What did you do to her last time, My Brother?" There was little chance of misinterpreting the suggestive tone of her voice.

Flushing hotly, Eric choked as Preso laughed low and Uni snorted. "Only tried to scream his way out of prison, Ayisha. Amber?" The Magician turned to the Faerie Dragon. "Will you go or stay? If you stay, your earth magic will be really useful."

The small dragon contemplated a moment then said, "I stay, Presto."

"Stay, " Terri said softly, stroking gentle fingers through Freddie's matted fur. The dog whimpered as protest.

Before Terri could command him, Varla said, "he will know where Hank and Timothy are held. He was with us when they were captured. I don't know how he escaped, but he knows their scents."

Terri looked at her dog and sighed, hugging him again. "Oh, okay. Find Hank, Freddie."

The dog perked up. He sprang to his feet and started sniffing along the edge of the roof. His movement was arrested by Eric's hand on his ruff.

"You'll fall off, Silly Mutt," he said affectionately. He'd been secretly fond of the dog last time they'd met. "Look, I'll climb down after the brain-dead patrol and you guys lower the dog to me. Uni and Terri climb down after and we'll go hunt up Hank and this Timothy guy."

"A Knight," Varla smiled at Eric.

"Yeah," he looked at her askance then over the edge of the roof. "Sir Timothy, then." He ignored her soft laugh as he saw the guards rounding the back of the prison. "Shhh. . . they're here."

Long minutes passed as the group watched the shuffling zombies slam on one barred window after another. They headed west to east, moving directly under the friends until they rounded the corner where orcs lay in sleeping heaps in and around the open eastern door. When the zombies came upon the spelled sleepers, they moaned and fell on the defenseless meal.

Presto paled, Uni buried her face in Eric's neck, and Terri covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to heave. The group moved shakily to just above the southern main door.

Gulping, Presto pointed to it. "The others went in and out here," his voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat with a low cough.

"Great," Eric eased Uni from him. "That's the way we'll go." He glanced towards the east wall but knew those zombies wouldn't be coming around anytime soon. Eric climbed over the edge of the roof and lowered himself carefully to the ground one story below, letting go and dropping the last few feet.

Uni and Terri came next, helped by Presto and Ayisha from the roof and Eric from the ground. Last, they lowered the wriggling Freddie, who calmed as soon as Eric grasped him. Setting the dog on the ground, the Cavalier straightened the shield on his right arm and looked the Terri.

She nodded. "Freddie, find Hank."

The trio cautiously followed the eager dog into the cold prison.

xxx

"Ranger-where is the _Weapon of Power_?" The well-dressed man leaned over Hank, the young blond's shoulders held in a steely ice-cold group. A pair of zombie each held the brown-haired Knight and the Elf, talons drawing pin-pricks of blood where they scraped skin. "I saw you use it. The energy glow was unmistakeable."

Hank looked at the vampire, his gut twisting. In as steady a voice as he could muster, he answered, "I lost it when the guards grabbed me."

The vampire curled his lip back in a sneer, a long menacing double-canine briefly revealed. His voice remained calm as he asked, "who was the woman who stole my Elf?"

Raevonn stiffened in her captors' grip, ignoring the pain of the razor-sharp claws. The vampire noticed and grinned widely. Without moving from where he held Hank against the wall, he pinned Raevonn with his hypnotic stare.

"Another Elf-you came with that slayer group." His chuckle was delighted malice. "Foolish little Elves. Now you are only two. You did see the other one die this morning." It was not a question.

The Healer spat at the vampire, finding her mark on his well-tailored tunic. As he lifted an eyebrow, she growled out, "you may have murdered my husband, but I will live far longer than you, Unholy One." She tore one arm from the zombie's grasp.

"No, Raevonn, stop." Hank's tone commanded instant obedience for all the softness of his tone. "I don't know who that woman was," he answered the vampire.

With a low growl, Raevonn allowed the zombie to recapture her. She kept her eyes on the vampire.

For his part, the undead creature merely looked back at the quiet Ranger. "So, you would protect these mortals when you could be immortal?" His tone registered amusement. "You do not realize the power of those weapons, Ranger. If the proper combination were to join, it could create the most powerful being in all the Realms," he leaned closer as if to impart a secret of the greatest importance, "or destroy it."

Hank turned his head to look the vampire directly in the eyes, their faces mere breaths apart. "So the loss of my weapon ruins your plans to kill your master and take over." The blond stiffened as the icy fingers left his shoulder and gripped his chin.

"Ah, brains as well as beauty?" The vampire looked smug. He sealed a kiss over Hank's mouth then nipped the man's lower lip, pulling back, licking the fresh drops of blood from his own pale lips.

The Ranger never flinched though he fought shock and nausea. He narrowed light blue eyes, watching the vampire warily. Softly, he said, "you will fail." He didn't elaborate, didn't expose the army's plans for this foul beast.

"Perhaps," the vampire allowed, "but you will not live to see it." He let the man go, stepping gracefully out of the way as two zombies grasped the injured Ranger tightly. The vampire walked to the door. "Shall we meet your husband, Elf?" He laughed, ignoring the Healer's cry of rage and walking from the room. The zombies followed with their injured captives.

At the north door, the vampire watched as a patrol of zombies passed, banging on windows to keep the prisoners unbalanced. When the group shuffled around the east wall an unholy moan erupted and the vampire smiled. He looked into the hall at his prisoners. "That will be Varen's orc mercenaries. Someone used a _Weapon of Power_ to eliminate them. Who was it? Who neutralized a battalion of orcs, my pretty one?"

Hank glared defiantly at the vampire but knew better than to pretend he wasn't the one being addressed. "I-don't-care-" he ground out in a hard voice.

The vampire laughed and waved the zombies into the courtyard. "No matter. Your _friend_," he made the word an insult, "will not last long. I think your eternal life will make any foolish detractors rethink their positions." His eyes roved the Ranger briefly and he added softly, "a shame, really. I would have enjoyed teaching you pleasure."

The blond tried not to gag.

Timothy began struggling against his captors. If he would die, he'd go down fighting. Hank and Raevonn joined in the struggle. Stepping back, the vampire merely looked amused and raised a hand imperiously. He whistled two loud notes.

"You called?" Eric asked, stepping out the north door behind them. He'd seen them being led out the back as his group had come in the front.

"Ah," the vampire turned and smiled at the foursome.

Terri let out a scream upon seeing the face from her vision. It hadn't gone like this. They weren't standing above a battle.

Amused, the vampire ignored Terri's shock and leered at Uni. "You again-how-delicious."

The crack of Uni's Alicorn Whip brought laughter from the fiend as he easily jumped out of the way. She couldn't repeat the attack as a pair of ghasts swooped over her with exposed claws. Barking wild, Freddie threw himself in the air towards the enemy, but he slammed hard mid-air into a ghast diving to obey its master. Terri tripped and fell to the ground, covering her head.

The ice had started melting and the ghasts began dropping heavy chunks of frozen water on their helpless victims. Raevonn couldn't move out of the way in time, tripping on her injured foot and falling to her knees with a yell of pain. Timothy lunged in front of her protectively but she was still hit by thrown ice, knocking her unconscious.

"Presto, some cover fire would be great!" Eric called out, diving over Terri, shield raised high. His protective field hummed to life, extending in a soft white-golden glow over the pair. "Now!" he yelled, pushing Terri back towards the prison.

A golden arrow shot from the roof, landing in the grotesque wall and sucking into the massed flesh. The vampire looked up, surprise finally wiping away the arrogant expression he'd worn. "The weapon!" He glared at Hank and lashed out with a clawed hand, screaming "you lied about the weapon! You don't control the Elf Bow!"

His strike missed as Eric jumped in front of him, taking the hit across his glowing shield. The vampire's strike skidded up the metal surface, claws screeching like nails on a chalkboard. Wild anger lit his dark blue eyes with an unholy glow. "You again!"

A quick jab of his other hand, low to Eric's hip, had the Cavalier lowering his shield slightly to adjust the protective range, still trying to keep Hank and Terri safe as well. Unfortunately, he failed to duck his head behind the now lowered shield.

The vampire's clawed hand hit him with the force of Bobby's Thunder Club.

Stars burst behind Eric's eyes and icy fire ripped through his head. Sudden dizziness drove the once more nauseous brunette to one knee. He heard the hissing of attacking ghasts mixed with groans from zombies and yells from his friends. Eric fought to his feet and lifted his shield high, swaying but determined not to give in to the weakness. He'd coped for six years, he would do it again. Concentrating, his eyes met those souless orbs of the vampire. "May wanna get lost," he said and lit the shield's full force-field, covering those behind him, trusting them to knock out the zombies in his field while he held off the ghasts and vampire. "Now, Presto!"

xxx

As soon as the ghasts broke through the ice, Ayisha pulled her father's Sonar Sword from its scabbard. Letting out an ululating war cry, she began to whirl and step around a pair of attacking ghasts. Her hair flew around her and her skirts whirled in a colorful prism of material. She moved with the grace of a dancer as she spun, slicing with the sword, sending an echo of pure sound at another ghast right near Presto.

He tore his eyes from the entrancing sight of the Dervish, flicking his hat out. He ducked a diving ghast as Varla began inexpertly firing Hank's bow, missing the enemy and hitting the writhing wall instead. "Good job, Varla!" True, she sucked at firing a bow, but at least she tried.

Amber was sitting on the roof edge, lifting rocks with her magic and tossing the missiles at various flying ghasts. She missed as much as she hit, but her enthusiasm was unmatched.

Presto threw himself down on the roof, learning over the edge for a clearer view.

The brown-haired man in torn trousers was right below Presto, the Elf beside him on her knees, dazed. The man used his elbow as a weapon; he was unarmed and apparently hurt. "Hey," Presto yelled, assuming he was Varla's friend Timothy. "Sir Timothy!"

The Knight looked up quickly, "huh?" He limped to the side, avoiding a zombie and stepping in front of the half-conscious Healer.

"Watch out above!" Presto called, dragging the great sword over. He clutched it with both hands as he slipped it over the edge then dropepd it, watching it fall to land with a clatter on the hard ground. When the teen scooped up the weapon, Presto turned his attention to the vampire now in the middle of the courtyard. A blond man with a bandaged torso stood too close to the enemy.

As the vampire tried to claw the man Presto assumed was Hank, Eric jumped in the way to block the blow.

Presto couldn't wait any longer. He had to risk hitting his friends with a spell; the undead force was growing as the feeding zombies finished their meal of orcs. Presto pushed away the resurging memory of Ramuud heavily bandaged.

Amber tossed another rock, catching Presto's attention. He grinned and scooped up a hand of wind-blown dust. Sprinkling it over his hat, he called out:

_Shower dust and stone  
Bones and flesh to shake  
Undead caught in rocks  
Buried by a quake_

The ground began to shake and Eric was forced to hold his shield with both hands as he fought the spinning in his head the injury had caused. A rain of large boulders began to tumble down on the yard, slamming into anyone outside the protection aura of the Griffon Shield. The power of one large boulder staggered Eric and he gritted his teeth, trying to blink the blood from his eyes.

Stunned by the rock shower, Timothy scooped up Raevonn and dove for the prison door. They hadn't been close enough for Eric's shield and those boulders were lethal. He laid her on the cold stone floor and turned back, dodging to make it back to the sword only feet away. Limping, he stumbled, his hand clutching at the handle of the great sword. Picking it up, he headed back into the prison, stopping in the door to prevent the enemy following them. Timothy had seen the smaller stones the Faerie Dragon had been tossing into the fray; who'd have thought she could do this?

Feeling his strength waning, Eric called out, "run for it, Guys!" He kept his eyes on the vampire who busily side-stepped the aerial-borne landslide.

Terri gasped as a rock hit close to her. She grabbed Freddie by the collar and ruff, tugging with both hands. "C'mon, Freddie!" The Dreamer and her dog sprinted towards Timothy, still in the doorway. Uni followed right on her heels then the former unicorn dove past them into the protective stone building.

Wrapping his arms around Eric's torso, Hank screamed, "Move!" He began to guide the distracted, injured Cavalier to the safety of the prison. The pair made it through the door before Eric's arm fell, shaking, the shield going dark. One glance back out the door showed ghasts flying into their caves while the slower moving zombies were crushed. The vampire was nowhere to be seen; it was unclear if he was under the rock-fall or had escaped.

The group moved across the hall and out the front door, Timothy carrying Raevonn despite his own leg injury, and Hank guiding Eric. Once outside, facing the gathered army in the valley, the group stopped, pressing instinctively against the prison wall. The armies had been joined by others and the battle was beginning. In the air, sparkling energy of red, violet, yellow, and white crisscrossed high in the air, coming from the four compass directions and forming a glowing network of strands over the entire mountain and valley.

"What the hell?" Eric groaned out, hand going to his head to cover the injury above his eye.

Continued in Chapter Thirty:


	30. Pieces on the Board

Title: Pieces on the Board

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 30 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence, sexual innuendoes, undead, language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Bobby- 18 (in two months); Terri and Timothy- 18; Uni (Elf)- 19 (Unicorn- 9); Lorne- 21; Sheila, Presto, and Varla- 23; Diana- 23 going on 24; Eric and Ayisha- 24; Hank- 24 going on 25; Kosar- 25 going on 26; Dekion- 33 going on 34; Freddie (Fritz)- 9 (assumed); Others are adults

Summary: Preparing for battle. . .

Note: Having finally been able to access my research files, I discovered that Bobby was 16 in 1991 (his 9th birthday being in November of 1983, per the episode '_Servant of Evil_'). This will not do for my story, so I had to change it to 1992, along with everyone else's ages. Also, I have found that Eric does have a brother, but do not fear. I have a reason for why he says he's the '_sole male Montgomery heir_'.

Secondary Note: I was asked if I was serious about what I was doing with Eric and Uni. Yes, very serious; it's important later on in fact (won't Bobby be troubled?).

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

Rounding the western end of the fort right behind the limping blond, Diana stopped and began controlling her breathing. "That-must-have-been-the-vampire," she gasped out.

"Vampire?" Bobby groaned and sank to his knees, hoping he hadn't broken anything in his last stunt. "No one said anything about vampires!"

Suddenly, Sheila threw her arms around Diana, surprising the Acrobat. "Diana!" She smiled, her grin lopsided due to her bloodied, swollen cheek and eye. "It's great to see you again!"

Diana laughed and hugged her old friend back. "It's good to be seeing anyone again."

"No one has come from the fort this day," Dekion's low voice interrupted before Diana's comment could be explained. "That is worrying."

Thrusting a hand though his hair, under the horned helmet, Bobby looked up at the taller man. "Dekion? Wow! Dungeon Master's pulling out all the stops, huh?"

"Wait a minute," Diana frowned, turning to the Barbarian. "Didn't you go home?"

Sheila frowned as much as Diana. As much as she'd loved seeing her little brother again, she had sent him home to keep him safe. "Didn't the portal work, Bobby?"

Rolling his blue eyes, Bobby settled his helmet back on his head and hefted his club, swinging it to land jauntily on his shoulder. "Yeah, I went home and got grounded."

His sister crossed her arms over her chest, drawing a frown from Bobby as he noticed her ripped clothing. "Grounded is better than dead, Bobby!"

"But Bobby," Diana laughed and gave the young man a brief hug, "why'd you come back? Don't you miss pizza?"

Bobby growled, "screw pizza. I miss Terri!" He flushed bright red at his inadvertent admission.

Sheila looked astonished, also flushing, but Diana let out a hoot of laughter. "Damn, Bobby, you done growed up!" she teased in a faked southern drawl. Sheila turned a glare on Diana, her hands shooting to her waist in indignation.

With a shake of his head, Bobby put the club on the ground. He hurriedly unfastened the leather harness and, standing in one fluid motion, pulled off the shirt he'd borrowed from Ramuud. He limped over to his sister and thrust the material at her. "Here. You're-uhﾗshowing," he flushed and turned his head away."

Bright red flared in Sheila's face and neck and she took the shirt without complaint. She pulled the light material over her head without removing the torn dress she already wore. She was surprised that the shirt hung halfway down her thighs. Blinking astonished teal eyes, the Thief looked at her brother and realized he was her height now and much broader in the chest, with muscled arms and legs. "Thanks," she whispered. Bobby had grown up and she hadn't been there for him.

Bobby shrugged and started fastening his harness back on. He glanced to the small Elf lying by the fort wall. "Uh, is she gonna be okay?"

_She_ looked up and smiled widely for the handsome young human. "Oh, yes, I'll be fine." Pain shadowed her sea-green eyes but her smile seemed genuine enough. "I'm Eliavah. Call me Avah. Are you Sheila's friend Hank? She said he was out here."

With a snort, Bobby shook his head, grinning back. "Nope. I'm her brother, Bobby. Hank's here?" He looked from Avah to his sister then Diana and Dekion.

Dekion sighed. "Yes. Presto says he's been captured as well." He ignored Sheila's sharp intake of breath. "We'd determined that Sheila was in the greater danger so rescued her first."

"So," Bobby hefted the club to his shoulder again, his eyes determined, "now we go rescue Hank."

Avah shook her head vigorously. "No, we cannot. The Vampire is in there and. . ." A soft frown wiped all humor from the Elf's dirty, bruised face. She pushed to her feet and took two steps beyond the others. "Goddess! Would you look at that?"

The others turned and looked down into the valley and the broken road beyond. A slight rise blocked the road from view by those camped in the valley, and there were thousands camped there. A long train of wagons and beasts was spreading itself on the road beyond the rise. Below the fort and prison a war was setting to be waged.

"Damn!" Bobby whistled low, shading his eyes against the mid-morning sun. "I saw them when I got here last night and climbed the east hills to avoid them. I had no idea there were so many of them!"

Sheila hugged herself, seeing the beings milling around where the night before there had been only campfires. "So many? How are we going to stop them?" Suddenly the thefts she and Varla had been doing seemed insignificant, the information useless, in the face of such a vast force. Straightening with a sudden thought, the redhead turned to her companions. "Wait. . .how'd you know where to find me? King Varen only caught me yesterday."

"Amber sent us," Diana smiled at her friend, placing a soothing hand on Sheila's stiff shoulder. She felt the Thief begin to relax. "She said you were the only one caught."

Bobby jumped in, "yeah. Jaref and Marinda are with Ramuud and said Varla went after you, Sis. They said Presto and Ayisha did, too. I left Lorne and Kosar with Ramuud because Lorne got hurt yesterday morning."

"Kosar?" Diana felt suddenly faint at the name, reaching out her other hand to blindly grip the person on that side: Dekion. "But. . .he can't. . ." Her hand slipped from Sheila's shoulder even as she squeezed Dekion's arm with unconscious force.

"Damn," Bobby swore softly. He'd forgotten how attached she'd been to the guy.

Dekion wrapped an arm securely around Diana and eased her to the hard ground. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her face between her knees, holding her in that position. "Breathe deeply, Diana. Do not pass out."

Kneeling next to her friend, Sheila shot a worried glance to Avah, who still watched the armies below, as if fascinated. The redhead turned back to Diana and reached out to touch her, but didn't make contact. In a soft voice, she said, "Dungeon Master did say you would meet him again, Diana."

"Star Gazing?" Dekion's deep voice reverberated, though it was soft. He thought he understood completely now the hesitation from the early days. The person hurt by Diana's star gazing had been, perhaps, more than merely a friend after all.

She looked up at him, and he let her head go. Chocolate eyes studied his face. Anguish and confusion written on the normally confident features, the beautiful young woman took a shaky breath. "Dekion?" Her voice sounded as haunted as her eyes were.

He slid his arm around her once more and pulled her onto his lap, ignoring the others with them. Gripping her chin, Dekion forced his long-time companion to look him in the eyes. His voice was steady, calm, as he said, "Kosar is unhurt and come back to you, Lady Diana. I promise I shall do everything I can to get you back to him."

Diana nodded without a word, leaning against his chest with a sob.

"Humans?" Avah's voice held awe and a hint of her normal amusement. "There are unicorns down there."

"What?" Bobby jumped to his feet, wincing at his forgotten foot injury. _Stupid oak door!_ He limped over and shaded his eyes again, trying to see what the far-sighted Elf had spotted. When she lifted a finger to point at several sparks of sunlight on the left side of the valley, near a stand of trees, Bobby grinned.

Sheila tore her worried gaze from Diana and moved to stand next to Bobby. Also shielding her eyes, she scanned the valley floor. Her eyesight had always been the best of the six, and that gift paid off now as she spotted Ramuud's banners. "Bobby! Ramuud's on the other side of the valley rise!"

Grinning at his older sister, Bobby nodded. "Sure is. I knew they were on our tail. . .whoa!"

The earth shook and rocks began falling from the sky behind the prison, rolling and shattering and piling up. Bobby, Sheila, and Avah were thrown to the ground. Fortunately, the boulder shower seemed to be central to the one location, with only an occasional large stone crashing near the small group. They pushed up against the side of the fort for safety.

"What did you do, Bobby?" Sheila asked, desperation in her voice.

"Me?" Bobby's voice cracked. "Nothing, Sis! This wasn't me!"

Diana pulled herself from Dekion's solid embrace to crawl around the side of the building. The need for action had pushed away remembered grief and pain. Smiling, at the vision on the prison roof, the Acrobat carefully made her way back to the group. "Presto."

"Presto did this?" Sheila looked stunned, wincing as another boulder slammed to the ground two hundred feet away.

"Yeah. He's on the roof with a dragon-must be Amber-throwing stones at the prison yard. There's a color-swirl with them, but it's fighting those flying ghasts, so I think it's a good guy."

"That would be a Dervish," Dekion said, reaching over and pulling Avah closer to the huddled group. True, the boulders weren't hitting too close, but he would feel better if the injured woman didn't stray too far in her obvious curiosity.

Avah seemed unperturbed by the Celestial Knight's handling. She watched the sky fascinated. "You friend, Presto. He does earth magic?"

Diana nodded. "Any magic he wants, really. He said he'd take care of the ghasts and orcs, too, when we went in to save you guys. I think he's really improved in the last six years."

"I'll say," Bobby agreed. "Who'd have thought Presto would be the most powerful of the _Children of Power_?"

Sheila smiled. "I'm glad he found his own, Bobby." She turned to look around at the sky, surprised. The boulders had stopped and the ground underneath was still. "It's over. . .oh!"

Looking up, the others noticed what Sheila had: A sleek red star ship glided smoothly over the rise from west. It dipped its wings to the small group but continued until it was over the northwest quadrant of the valley. Perhaps he hadn't been able to get the ship space worthy, but Alfor had obviously managed to get it air worthy.

"Prepare yourselves, Young Ones. The battle is at hand."

The feminine voice drew the group's attention and they looked back towards the western hills.

Kareena stood on the northwest rise above them, arms raised, light blond hair hidden under a red cowl that matched her flowing red and violet robes. Her eyes glowed a soft baby blue and fine red jets of energy streamed from her fingertips to cross the sky. The strands joined others of purple from the northeast, white from the southwest, and yellow from the southeast, interweaving with the other energy streamers along their paths.

The sounds of undead pouring from the fort came to their ears. Dekion whistled for his war-bird, lifted his sword, and ran round the edge of the fort straight into the fray. The others joined him.

xxx

Presto lay slightly over the edge of the roof, hands gripping the hot stone edging. The rock shower was tapering off and the worried Magician tried to see if any of his friends had been hit.

He saw smashed zombies, and a few damaged ghasts, scattered around the prison courtyard. Parts of the living wall had also been hit by the boulders, as well as by Varla's wild arrow fire. Amber's tossed stones had chased behind other fleeing ghasts, and Ayisha's whirling Dervish attack picked off several remaining flying undead. None of his friends were in sight, but neither was that vampire.

Pushing back from the edge of the roof, Presto flipped over onto his back, hand over the opening of his hat, ready to cast another spell if needed. The last enemy fell under the sonar energy rings of Ayisha's borrowed sword. The woman stopped her wild dance and sank to her knees, breathing heavily, hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, face flushed and chest heaving from her efforts.

He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Flushing lightly at the inappropriate thoughts, Presto carefully sat up, trying to keep an eye out for that Vampire-or the mysterious blue-armored figure from that morning. He opened his mouth to ask the others if they'd seen anything but gasped instead.

On the rise above the prison, to the northeast, stood a small, heavy set woman with bronzed skin and iron grey hair. She had wise eyes in her wrinkled ancient face. Zandora lifted her hands, winking at Presto as she noticed him watching her, then looked out over the valley where the army seemed to be growing. White jets of pure energy shot out to cross the sky. Her magic energy intertwined around red, purple, and yellow energy streams.

Stunned, Presto's attention was drawn away by the sound of the front prison door being slammed wide open. He dove for that side of the roof and watched in relief as Terri, Uni, Hank, Eric, Freddie, and an unknown man and Elf woman piled out of the squat building. There didn't seem to be an uninjured member of the party, but at least they were alive and free.

Presto looked back up at the energy streams overhead then back at the massing armies. Beyond the valley rise was a road over barren wastes. Those wastes were piling up with other arriving creatures. To the southwest, among a stand of dead trees, was a herd of unicorns, alicorns sparking in the sun. Flying over the northwest, from beyond the forest but gliding smoothly over that quadrant of the field, was Alfor's starship. Spreading over the skies central to the valley was a fair of Faerie Dragons. Presto whistled low.

His voice strong, he called out, "do you see that?"

From below, Eric called back, "What's going on out here?"

Varla breathed deeply. "Over the rise! See the banner? The Armies of Light have come!" She gestured with her right left hand, Hank's bow still gripped in her right.

The woman was correct: the different groups beyond the valley rise proudly displayed the banner with the white griffon head encircled in black. Eric flushed to see his shield's symbol used by an entire army. Ayisha smiled as Presto laughed softy.

"My father's banner is in the lead." Her voice was pleased.

Hank looked up, not recognizing the dark woman but seeing Varla next to her. Relief flooded him at the sight of the pretty redhead in the cloak. "Presto?" The man was vaguely familiar, though he wasn't sure why he'd called the ginger-haired man '_Albert_' earlier.

"Yeah?" Presto looked down at the blond with the bandaged torso.

"Did the others get out? A group tried to escape before us." Hank shielded his eyes, looking around, trying to see the red-haired Thief and her group. They were nowhere in sight.

Grinning widely, Presto nodded, though Hank had looked away. "Yeah, they went beyond the fort to get away from the undead." He looked over the valley to catch another glimpse of Ramuud's banner, but gasped. "They're on the move!"

Everyone looked down, watching as the Armies of Light began to position themselves to top the rise.

With a deep breath, Presto stood, opening his hat. He's seen the fort doors opening and knew that meant more undead had finally been called to battle. The ghasts would be back, as well. All he could hope for was that Ramuud and the army would keep those troops in the valley from coming up to the prison: the small group of friends was trapped up here.

"Spread out," Hank called out in a sure voice. He gestured to both sides with his strong, tanned hands.

Timothy moved one way, Raevonn crawling back to the prison doorway as she was fairly useless as injured as she was. On Hank's other side, Eric lifted his shield despite his exhaustion. Uni stepped away from him towards the west, Alicorn raised at the ready. Terri, with Freddie, was between the Cavalier and the former-unicorn. On the roof, Varla took up a position above the prison doorway with Presto on the east and Ayisha on the west, closer to the fort. Amber took up a position on Varla's shoulder.

Grimly, Presto looked over his small group of _Children of Power_. "You will remember this battle!" he called out, as if the troops below could hear and take heart from the words. "Each minute, each second, until the day that you die!"

"For there is no tomorrow, gentlemen. Today, we remember the Alamo!" Hank had no idea where the remembered quote came from, or its significance, but he finished Presto's words anyway.

Eric turned to look at him, using one hand to wipe at the blood above his eye, smearing it. "The _Alamo_! I may have flunked history twice, but even I know they all died at the Alamo!" His voice bordered on horrified that the pair would be quoting General Sam Houston at such a time. It was reminiscent of Diana's teasing during battle, something that Eric had never understood.

The Ranger looked at the Cavalier and shrugged then winced and wrapped an arm around his injured chest.

The movement drew Eric's eyes and he resisted shaking his head, too experienced with vertigo to trigger it now he was injured. "Dressed to impress, I see."

Hank look at the black-haired man in gold armor and suddenly it clicked. He knew this man. A relieved grin spread over the blond man's face and he chuckled at Eric's sarcastic remark. "Maybe not as shiny as you," he retorted at the young man in the highly polished armor.

"Hmmm," Eric responded, turning back to the view of the valley.

Unfortunately, the undead from the fort shuffled and rushed them, more than zombies and ghasts present in this batch. Some of the beings were unfamiliar, but all were evil. The small group had to turn from the sight of the armies to protect their own lives. Unfortunately, Terri would be the first _Child of Power_ to meet the undead, unarmed.

She screamed as Freddie began barking menacingly. The great shaggy canine flung himself at the on-coming battalion, protecting his new-found mistress. "Freddie!"

A flash of light came from the far end of the fort but not from the figure in red and violet on the rise. It came from the brown-haired man rushing around the edge of the four-story building. The man vaulted onto the back of a just landing war-bird, the pair taking off before Dekion had even settled. Diana, Bobby, Sheila, and Avah rounded the corner behind the undead, javelin and club lit with magical energy, raised for the coming fight.

The undead between the two groups were taken by surprise.

xxx

Stopping his beast at the rise at the end of the road, Ramuud remained sitting on the saddle-piece of his howdah. Really, he should have been riding inside, but the trader king loved the outdoors. He didn't feel like being cooped inside the howdah. His energy high with the coming battle, Ramuud had enough trouble letting Jaref arrange things.

The man wasn't a caravan man, but he had a good head on his shoulders and his orders were sound. Jaref had brought them to the Wall of Souls without incident. In mere hours, the woodcutter had impressed the caravan members, which was a good thing as he might be forced to lead them in Ramuud's present condition.

The caravan leader watched as two scouts went forward to check over the rise.

"Marinda asks you to come for a counsel." Kosar stood below the right side of Ramuud's beast, looking up at the leader. He was using his external voice, aware that many of the caravan members were uncomfortable with his psionics. Lifting a hand, the gentle young man offered a smile up at Ramuud.

Ramuud smiled back and accepted the help of the younger man. Once his feet were on the hot cracked ground, the man placed a hand on Kosar's shoulder, ignoring the pain as they moved. His skin had only been flayed off about a day so healing would be very slow. It was the precise wrong time to be so injured. The man's smile didn't falter despite his dark worries. He kept up appearance for his people; they were nervous enough transporting these supplies and weapons to the Armies of Light.

Lorne stepped in front of the pair, a small frown on his face. He gestured towards the rise then turned and led the pair slowly up to join Jaref and Marinda. His bandages were covered by a borrowed turban Ramuud had helped him put on. Without the protective cloth, the injured twenty-one year old risked serious infection from travel dirt: yet another member of the army that would not be able to fight at his strongest, if at all.

The valley stretched before the quintet, men and beasts cramped together in a horde of evil and greed. Rahmuud's eyes widened as he saw what they would be up against. "So, the enemy is prepared." He looked at the others then beyond them, eyes widening.

Jaref frowned and swung around to look behind him. His mouth dropped open. "I never thought to see the day. . ." awe radiated from his hushed voice.

A herd of unicorns strode purposely out of the stand of sparse trees to the southwest. The lead unicorn, a black stallion with silver main, tail and alicorn, bobbed his head as if in welcome. As the humans watched, the herd passed them to stride over the rise and slip into the stand of dead trees near a group of disinterested lizard men.

Marinda's gasp brought the attention back to the roadway and hope built as they saw the approaching people. Humans, Dwarves, Elves, Gnomes, Pixies, man-faced lion-bodied lamasu, and many other races were represented. From the west, over the trees, flew an entire fair of Faerie Dragons. Up the road strode three men in armor, two dressed beautifully, one a working knight by his appearance. From the south east strode a giant, followed by others of his race.

Ramuud's face stretched into a wide, painful smile and he laughed softly. "I would say we got here in time to watch the Armies of Light arrive, My Sister." He didn't know who had been responsible for gathering the army, but the caravan leader was more than pleased with the results.

The giant stopped before the small group and bowed to them, a large amulet dangling from his wrist. "I am Karrox."

"Strongheart," added the man in silver-white armor carrying a golden hammer.

The tall man in gold and silver armor, large blue eyes kind in his handsome face, smiled and offered a hand to each person. "I am Sir Lawrence."

"Sir John," panted the heavier set man in dull iron platemail, a horn hanging from his belt. "Oh my, I never dreamed so many people would come!" He spun around, looking over the arriving people spreading out from the road along the barren wasteland and the skimpy forests. There was no way the armies on the other side of the rise could miss the noise, but no one came to check. Sir John turned back, still puffing from his exertions. "Well, the battle will be over there closer to that fort?" He gestured to the fort on the large rise, visible even from their position.

Ramuud smiled at Jaref; the woodcutter looked shocked. He apparently hadn't expected this turn out, either. Marinda stepped back, away from the giant, and gasped as Kosar encircled her upper arms in his strong hands. The gentle Psionicist gave her a reassuring nod, trying to put up mental shields as quickly as he could; he risked total mental collapse if he let the mass amount of minds in. Lorne shook his head in wonder then let out a soft whoop. He hurried towards a black-haired woman in colorfully striped skirts. She opened her arms widely and embraced him. He quietly turned and led his gypsy mother back to the small group of leaders. All over the barrens groups were greeting each other warily, most unsure just what to make of the others.

"The Ranger has done well."

Surprised, the small group turned to the rise on the east, south of the valley. The small, stout figure of Dungeon Master lounged there, his short legs stuck straight out in front of him, his feet rocking towards each other and away, over and over as he beamed at the group of leaders.

"Ranger?" Marinda asked.

"Sir John," Dungeon Master bowed his head respectfully at the older knight, "began the Armies of Light nine years ago after the _Children of Power_ aided him in saving his son and defeating a beholder. Six years ago, I sent the Ranger to aid Sir John with his recruitment. Each of these groups have been aided by the _Children of Power_ in their time here or by the Ranger since he began his quest. They are here to repay the debt of gratitude."

The giant nodded, swinging his great weapon onto his shoulder. "I am here for the Barbarian. He helped me get home and protect my family."

Sir Lawrence smiled. "I owe Sheila my life and my kingdom."

The paladin, Strongheart, nodded. "I was in the Prison of Agony when the child Barbarian freed you, Karrox, and the rest of us. The Young Ones were noble and brave. It is a debt I can never repay."

The gypsy woman merely smiled and gently hugged Lorne to her with one arm. "The _Children_ gave me my son." She'd only had her foster child for six months, but it was obvious that she doted on the young man as if he had been born to her.

Kosar lifted a hand to stop the exchange of stories, much as he found them fascinating. "Those _Children of Power_ are up at the fort and prison on the central rise. They need us to keep this army busy while they take on the leader of this nightmare. We need a way to tell our troops to engage in battle once we have a plan of attack."

His quick mind sifted through the bits of information he and Jaref had translated along the way. Most of the scrolls had been concerning the troops the enemy had as well as strengths and weaknesses of the mercenaries. One star chart seemed to be tied to the song Terri had read off the afternoon before, but Kosar still had not figured out why King Varen had considered the old ballad so important he had it locked in a wall safe. After all, if Amber was to be believed, the song wasn't exactly forgotten: the Faerie Dragons, and most likely the Elves, recalled the words. What was the significance of that particular song? Or was it the scroll itself?

Shaking his head, Kosar looked at the other leaders, hardly believing he was counted among them. He laid his hand on the morning star at his hip, secretly amused that Lorne had thought it was a flail. The pair had tested their new weapons on the way and Kosar was delighted to find that his created whirlwinds. Lorn had been stunned when his trident had shot a bolt of lightning. No one had found the courage or time to try the large spiral horn and it resided on the weapon wagon seat.

"Well, we've got troops to fight, Kosar," Lorne said, "but I think you and me might be more use up there with them."

The psionicist shook his head and gestured towards the buildings crouched above them on the rise, broad steps leading down to the valley. "I thought you wanted to stay away from the Wall fo Souls, Lorne."

The two gypsies made protective wards over themselves. Lorne, blue-grey eyes wary, slowly looked up at that forbidding rise. "Uh," he gulped and wiped a hand down his trousers, "maybe you can check with Bobby and see if he needs us?" He turned back to Kosar, meeting the older man's blue eyes. "You still got that telepathic connection, right?"

Surprise registered in Kosar's eyes while Lorne's foster mother looked delighted. The gypsies didn't outlaw psionics, at least. Kosar looked towards the rise. "Uh, I think I can, but there's so many strange minds around me I'm having trouble even protecting myself."

Karrox looked at the human and knelt on one knee. "You are a friend of the Barbarian?"

"Uh," Kosar looked up at the still towering figure. He blinked and nodded, at a loss for words.

The giant unwound the amulet's chord from his wrist and lifted it over Kosar's head. "This will keep you safe. It works best if given away. The Barbarian gave it to me, and I give it to you."

A sudden calm descended on Kosar's mind and he felt the first true peace he'd had since he'd been brought back to the Realm six years before.

Soft chuckling brought their attention back to the Dungeon Master. The ancient man stood slowly and clapped his hands together much like a delighted child. "And so it shall protect you, Psionicist. When you need it most, you must give it away." His teal eyes twinkled and he turned to face the northwest hillside across the valley.

He raised his wrinkled hands and his smile fell away. None of the small group dared interrupt as streamers of yellow energy shot out of his fingers and arched over the valley, intertwining with equal jets of red, violet, and white light from right angles.

The creators of the red and white lights in the north were indistinguishable at that distance, but by turning towards the left, the figure of Venger was revealed. He stood with his hands outstretched, violet light streaming forth. His face and clothing reflected the noble changes wrought on him six years previously by Eric's actions. Thought uncomfortable still with the former arch-fiend, the army leaders had to accept the evidence of their eyes: Venger had been redeemed and joined them in their battle.

The leaders looked back at one another and Ramuud nodded, his mouth set in a grim line for once. "We attack as soon as we are prepared. Who has a horn to signal the attack?"

Sir John raised his hand then lowered it to the horn at his hip. "I do. I'll blow the charge." He sounded eager to led this army he'd helped form.

With a nod, Ramuud acquiesced. "Very well. Karrox, your people join the unicorns and other woodland beasts. Sir Lawrence and Strongheart, to the east rise with those men and beasts. Sir John, with my people and the gypsies."

As the energy streams continued to interweave, a mighty screech echoed over the battlefield. The horrifying sight of a skeletal dragon swept from the top of the stone fort on the rise. It was followed quickly by a blue armored figure astride Venger's one-time mount, Nightmare. The pair of fliers circled the skies to the east, ignoring the group still by the prison and heading for the center of the battle and the Faerie Dragons.

Ramuud called out, "now is the time, My Brother! Sound your horn!"

Standing four wagons from the lead, Sir John raised his horn in shaking hands. He put it to his lips, never removing his eyes from the sight of the fliers. He tried to blow, but barely a squeak came out. Looking at the battered tin horn, shock in his eyes, he realized the horn was damaged from his journey. It wouldn't work.

Desperate not to let down the army, the knight looked around him for something he could use. There, on the front of the wagon next to him, sat a large spiraled horn. Relief coursed through the older man and he launched himself at the horn. Placing it to his lips, he blew it with all he had.

A long, mellow note issued from the horn, reverberating across the valley and beyond.

Stunned, the knight took the horn from his lips and looked at it. He missed the view of the armies moving out at his command, topping the rise to march into battle. Rather, his eyes raised to the skies and he nearly wet himself at the sight.

In the skies overhead, several figures clashed, diving and climbing in aerial combat. To the far west hung a large metallic object and to the far right the figure in blue armor rode astride the black stallion with flames for mane and tail. Near the prison the skeletal body of the dracolich swooped, radiating unholy evil. Across the middle of the valley flew a giant bird of prey, brown and white, the tall brown-haired rider lying low on the bird's back. A five-headed dragon burst into the sky surrounded by a bright white light, screaming her defiance at the world.

It was the sight of the five-headed Tiamat that nearly evaporated Sir John's courage. What had he done? Sir John dropped the horn and pulled his sword, shaking but determined to make up for his mistake, even if he didn't know how to fight a five headed flying dragon.

The energy net completed, enveloping the valley and surrounding hills in a protective field. The four powerful mages at the corner points of the compass maintained their concentration. They would let no new fighters into the battle. Unfortunately, until the net was undone, no one would be able to retreat either.

There was no going back. War hand began.

Continued in Chapter Thirty-One: Battle Royale


	31. Battle Royale

Chapter Title: Battle Royale

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 31 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence- war, sexual innuendoes, undead

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Too many people to count. The only non-adult is Bobby, who is two months from his eighteenth birthday. Everyone else, including non-humans, are considered adults.

Summary: The battle begins. Mass chaos ensues.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

"Sir John, what have you done!" screamed Marinda, clasping the side of a wagon with white-knuckled fingers. Her face was equally drawn, pale, and she seemed to have aged even more at the sight of the five-headed dragon.

"Uh," Sir John shook his head, sword point ineffectually directed at the far away aerial battle.

And battle it was.

With a cry akin to rage, Tiamat launched herself at the dracolich, her deep voice reverberating as she cried, "abomination!" She shot a spray of lightning from the mouth of her blue head followed by a cone of freezing cold from her white. "Defiler of dragonkind!" She breathed, incensed. Her wings clapped together in the air, sending the dracolich end over end and nearly into the airborne Celestial Knight before the undead dragon regained its altitude and struck back.

Dekion laid low against his great war-bird, eyes on the fiery horse with the blue armored rider. He strengthened his grip on the Light Sword he carried, left hand gripping his war-bird's leather harness. The screams of Tiamat above him nearly threw him from his flight saddle, but the Celestial Knight held on, intent on his enemy. As the war-bird maneuvered nimbly around the tossed skeletal dragon, Dekion prayed the five-headed beast would leave him to his self-appointed quest: let her continue her attack on the dracolich.

Flame washed over the man and bird as Dekion ducked and his war-bird banked around the Nightmare's breath attack. The pair were singed but still battle worthy. He threw a beam of light towards the armored figure who easily rode his evil steed evasively around it. The horse breathed hellfire again and Dekion was forced to guide his war-bird to dive under the flames.

Dekion knew his sword could no longer decay things with its beam; that foul power had been granted him while he'd been a revenant in the employ of Venger. But the pure light he wielded as the last Celestial Knight would do much damage to the hell stallion and his foul rider. Dekion aimed another blast of brilliance at the evil pair, clipping a hind leg of Nightmare but doing little more than enraging the beast further.

So motivated in his own battle, Dekion never noticed the blasts of energy directed from Alfor's starship towards the skeletal dracolich nearby.

Unfortunately for the warriors, the Star Children were peaceful explorers little equipped to rage war. Their blasts were mere heat and flash with no true damage capability. Alfor turned his furred head to the young man at the controls. "Again, Olvino," he commanded and the youth hit the flash again, venting more light and heat. Any time the dracolich avoided Tiamat's strikes and got too close to a Faerie Dragon with its own black hellfire breath, Alfor ordered another strike. The distraction technique served more as a warning for the valiant little fliers than as protection. Tiamat did more to save the Faerie Dragons, no matter how inadvertent her actions might be.

Queen Tasmira, thankful for any help the strange metallic vehicle and the enormous dragon queen provided, directed her fair in their magical bombardment of the amassed enemy below. Rocks, small rain bursts, ice shards, flaming cinders, and mini-whirlwinds wreaked havoc across the field of orcs, goblins, and lizardmen. Bullywogs, forced into unwelcome service, cowered behind comrades, ignoring the angry orders of Warduke, riding a dark grey gelding and striking at armed caravaners and gypsies. Karrox hefted his mighty weapon and charged against the mounted figure right past a massive orc

The orc general ignored the giant, sensing the creature wasn't coming against the goblin archers the orc lead. The general continued ordering the small beasts to aim at those on the rise. The energy signatures flashing before the prison denoted _Weapons of Power_, marking the greatest threat to the plans of conquest. Another golden arrow found its way down among his goblins and the general roared at his band to "reform! More fire!" He would use every last goblin to defeat that hated Ranger, a long-time nemesis of the orc general. Though it wasn't clear why the Ranger's aim was off this battle, the general didn't want to give the human man time to readjust. "Fire! Fire!"

One of the archers managed to hit a flying lamasu, bringing the huge man-faced lion to a crash amid the screaming humans nearby. The orc general didn't care if those men were allies or not; he hated all men and was satisfied to see them terrified and hurt.

Strongheart avoided the falling lamasu-barely. Lifting his golden hammer, he cried out, wordlessly, and charged a hulking ogre who dared approach to finish the good beast off. The paladin would save a life that day. He swept the large ogre aside, grateful to see Sir Lawrence engage that particular enemy in battle. Kneeling in his white plate mail, the gentle warrior pulled off his gauntlets and grasped the goblin arrow. He broke the shaft close to the lamasu's golden pelt then carefully worked the vicious metal head from the wound. Strongheart reached into his belt pouch and retrieved a small amount of the healing salve he always carried. He smeared it on the bloody wound then laid his hands over it, murmuring his request to the goddess he served. Slowly, the wound began to close as battle raged above and around the man and beast.

Dispatching the hulking ogre before Strongheart came to harm, Sir Lawrence set himself as the paladin's protector. If the other man was intent on healing fallen allies, the King of Zinn could hardly find fault with that. He ordered his men, encouraging them as the enemy charged through the ranks on horses in metal barding. Wolves and fouler beasts followed, scattering among the humans and their Dwarvish, Elfish, and Gnomish allies. The sounds of fighting from above had finally ceased to be a distraction to the men, despite the raging continuing aerial battle. Suddenly, the sound of a trumpet and a loud cheer, mental as well as audible, drew the king's attention.

The Psionicist stood in front of the wagons waving to a group of men on horseback just arrived. A strong, though age-bearded, man atop a white charger rode up to meet the enthusiastic welcome. Sir Lawrence turned back to his comrades, ignoring the young psi and the men who had followed behind the caravan until now.

"I didn't see you back there, King Travaer!" Kosar smiled then turned to shoot a whirlwind at a lizardman stalking Marinda. The woman was handing out weapons and helping the injured back into camp.

The King of Taroud laughed loudly as he recognized the young man at the edge of battle. "Kosar? Why, lad, you've grown up! Well met!" Turning in his saddle, the elder drew his sword and waved it towards the battle, signaling his men to advance. Looking back at the Psionicist, he grinned widely. "We were caught behind this caravan and barely slipped in before this magic bubble sealed. We shall talk later, My Friend." And the king spurred his horse into the battle with an enthusiasm to match the greeting he'd received.

Kosar turned back to his task, noting in some surprise that Jaref had disappeared from his position near Sir John, who in turn seemed to be fighting a decrepit-looking man in oversized brown robes astride a huge hound. Two great wolves fought unicorns near the pair. The young psi looked for the even younger Gypsy and spotted him with one arm slung under Ramuud's. Lorne helped the caravan leader towards Marinda, trident clasped awkwardly in one hand. Lifting his morning star, Kosar sent a blast of wind spinning around another lizardman, enabling the escape of his two wounded comrades. As the pair came abreast of him, Kosar turned and slipped an arm around the all but unconscious desert king.

Jaref sprinted up behind the group, skidding to his butt as he slid to a stop near the healer's wagon. "He was thrown by a blast from that dog rider," the woodcutter explained, helping his wife to unwrap the shredded bandages on the man's torso and face. As they revealed what the man had kept hidden from them: that his skin had been recently flayed from him and had not healed yet, Lorne's foster mother ran over with a pot of healing salve and some fresh bandaging.

"Gods! I cannot replace his skin, but I can try to stop the bleeding." She worked quickly with the other couple as Kosar pulled Lorne back a few steps, giving them room. Other gypsies ran over to form a protective front for the four leaders.

Ramuud's voice was filled with pain as he called out, "My Sons, you must destroy that wall! Too many of ours are falling prey to it!" The man passed out while the other three continued their lifesaving efforts.

"He should have stayed back," Marinda moaned, knowing that they could very well lose the caravan leader before the day was ended; his blood loss was extreme.

Lorne looked at the distant rise in horror, grip tightening on his trident. "How?" He cringed as a harpy grabbed one of their gnomes and tossed it into the sucking atrocity. The Gypsy wanted to faint and to wet himself, but did neither, tearing his eyes from the revolting sight and turning to his longtime friend. "Kosar, how?"

Reaching out at last with his mind, hoping not to be overwhelmed by the massed mental energy around him, Kosar closed his blue eyes to the horrors before him. He gripped the protective amulet Karrox had given him, unaware as it began to glow, trying to rekindle the bond he'd formed just yesterday. Peace flowed over the man and he called, "_Bobby! Hear me!_"

"_What?_" the surprised Barbarian sounded like an echoing version of himself.

Kosar could suddenly see through the seventeen year old's eyes: the youth fought hard against the undead onslaught on the rise. Not wanting to distract Bobby in such a critical battle, Kosar asked, "_who is free to speak with me?_"

"_Uh,_" Bobby grunted mentally as well as physically as he took a solid hit from a clawed zombie. "_Some Elf,_" he panted, "_crawled into the prison. She's one of ours,_" he grunted again in his efforts and Kosar mentally backed off. He needed a name to contact her.

Reaching, touching each mind gently, for once glad that the enemy up there were mindless corpses so he wouldn't be sidetracked, Kosar found a mind he hadn't expected to join. "_Diana?_" He could feel her essence around him mentally, and it hurt to touch her even if just her mind. His nerve endings felt like they were searing, like he had been thrust back into _Starfall_ all over again.

"_Kosar!_" She sounded equally shocked, equally pained by the brief touch.

He pulled back without further comment, panting at the fading pain still lacerating his nerves. He had never thought that he would be unable to contact Diana if he ever found her again. The thought wrenched his gut, but he had to focus. Instead, Kosar reached for a mind unfamiliar to him.

A gentle mind drew him like a beacon and he gladly reached out. "_Hello? I seek help._" He didn't worry about how his words might sound, letting his desperation speak for him. "_I need to destroy that wall._"

The voice soothed as it touched back. "_Perhaps Raevonn knows?_" Her soft tones were a sweet alto. "_She is an Elf Healer. They deal with undead._"

It struck him suddenly why this contact was easier than the others. He'd found another telepath. How? Thankfully, Kosar called out, "_is she close?_"

"_Yes,_" came the soft feminine reply, though she sounded distracted. "_Below in the prison._"

As he began to pull back, Kosar was arrested by the gentle voice asking, in some frustration, "_why can I not aim this bow? It did not look hard._"

Chuckling to himself, he mentally answered, "_keep your back and arm straight. The hand you write with should be the one you pull the string with._" He paused and heard her triumphant, "_Ah, I was using the wrong hand,_" before he pulled back fully and began his quest for the Elf called Raevonn.

This time he managed to reach a relatively well-ordered mind. "_Raevonn?_"

Surprise laced the woman's husky contralto. "_Yes?_"

By now Kosar knew the mind voice sounded very much like the physical voice. He smiled at the soothing tones, the orderliness of the mind. "_I am Kosar. I need to destroy the wall._"

"_I know how,_" she replied immediately. "_I cannot reach it. I cannot walk._" Frustration colored the woman's husky tones though discipline kept her emotions in check.

The Psionicist tried to soothe the Healer. "_If I can get you there, can you stop it?_"

"_Oh, yes-as long as I can get the beast who created it._" Her tone held certainty, and Kosar nodded in reply.

"_I am on my way. I will bring help._" Kosar pulled back from the minds above him, centering in himself before finally letting the amulet go. It fell to his chest, dark and still. Opening his eyes, the man turned and laid a hand on Lorne's shoulder. "We need to get to the prison. Someone up there can help us get rid of the wall."

Lorne, still pale, nodded grimly, clasping his trident until his knuckles went white. "How do we. . ." Whooping suddenly, Lorne grasped Kosar's arm and pulled him towards the sparse dead trees where the unicorn herd fought the wolf pack. "C'mon, Kosar. We'll hitch a ride with them!"

"With the unicorns?" Kosar asked, stunned more than anything. How could Lorne even contemplate riding a unicorn? And this herd was trapped in battle, though their leader had dispatched several enemies if the blood on his alicorn was any indication.

"No, stupid," scorn riddled Lorne's voice. "Not them," he dismissed the battling equines. "Them!" The Gypsy pointed to a pair of winged beings as unalike one another as the two human companions were from each other. One was a great lamasu, just pouncing, his claws sinking into a squealing orc. The other was a riderless war-bird, unharnessed, raking a lizardman with her great talons.

Kosar shook his head, "I don't know about that, Lorne. They may not like your idea."

The Gypsy laughed again and sped up, dodging lizardmen and orcs; he was too excited to notice the throbbing in his lacerated scalp. "They will when I explain why we need the ride. Remember, Kosar, they're the good guys, too!"

xxx

"Great! Tiamat, too!" Eric groaned as the group watched the five-headed dragon scream into the skies above them. He dodged another swooping ghast, letting it smash into his shield. The Cavalier winced at the pain shooting through his body.

"Terri did predict it, Airk," Uni called back. She snapped her whip, the energy cord lashing at the legs of an oncoming zombie. Yanking back on the alicorn, Uni tripped the monster, forcing it in front of an oncoming ghoul. Twisting her pale face into a grimace, Uni pushed away from the foul stinking undead, moving instinctively closer to Eric's protective field, despite now owning a _Weapon of Power_. Too long she'd been reliant on his strength. Seeing a ghast diving for the defenseless Terri, Uni snapped her whip, the energy cord encircling its neck and pulling it out of the air. She released the creature and watched it fall among the fighting figures below.

"Way to go, Uni!" Terri screamed as she ducked back against the prison wall, Freddie barking and biting at any enemy who dared get close to his mistress. Reaching down, she found a large rock dropped previously by someone's spell. Grinning, Terri scooped up the rock and called out "Bobby! Fastball!" Thankful for the occasional games of catch she and Bobby had played back home, she threw it as hard as she could over the undead figures.

The Barbarian grunted in surprise as he heard someone call his name over the din of battle. He couldn't tell who it was, but he did look up. A large rock came at his head, fast. Grunting again, he swung his club to knock it into a flying ghast, taking the beast over the cliff and smashing it into the fighters below. More rocks came at him and he found himself playing an insane game of baseball with an unknown pitcher. One of his swings missed and he cursed the long lack of practice at his once favorite sport.

Flying wide of the mark, the rock nearly slammed into Ayisha as she spun in her Dervish attack, hair and skirts flying in a prismatic whirl. Her Sonar Sword alternately sliced and sounded out as she twisted and turned around her diving opponents. Ghasts and the newly arrived wights continually tried to claw at the fast moving woman, but her spinning defense took her out of range just as quickly as she moved back in to hit another enemy.

Varla kept her eyes on the armies below, ignoring her whirling companion as much as the spell-casting one on the other side. She was trying to shoot Hank's bow, pulling the energy string as fast as she could left-handed while trying to maintain aim as her right arm wobbled more often than not. Her arrows flew into the mass of fighters below and occasionally she even struck the goblin archers she aimed at. Frustration built as she continued the difficult task of trying to lay coverfire for the other _Children of Power_.

Presto had long given up shouting encouragement to the Illusionist beside him. He concentrated on his own defense, shooting spell after spell as fast as he could form the incantations that would invoke his hat's energy. Eschewing creativity for practicality, the Magician concentrated on repeating the same spell over and over, not caring if all it did was rain down flaming arrows on the army closest to the cliff. His throat, still sore from yesterday's abuse, was becoming dry and scratchy. Soon he'd have to forgo the spoken word altogether, something fairly tricky to do when working with his _Weapon of Power_; it worked better with a verbal component to guide the energy. Reciting his spell one more time, Presto tried to throw his arrows onto a small clump of orcs who seemed to be climbing the wall itself:

_Against the enemy might  
Deluge like falling rain  
Striking as arrows true  
Pierce them with my flame_

As a mass of flaming arrows shot from his hat and down among the climbing orcs, Presto felt his voice give out. He was down to wordless magic and that took a lot of concentration, something he didn't have much of in the craziness of the battle. Taking a deep breath, Presto began to slowly move his fingers over his hat, chanting in his mind, hoping the uncertain energy took his meaning clearly enough to help.

Just below the muted Magician, Hank, defenseless without a weapon, scanned the oncoming undead to give his companions warnings of possible sneak attacks. He kept one arm wrapped around his bloody, bandaged torso as he tried to stay back against the prison. The prison!

Turning and looking into the barred window behind him, Hank saw several terrified faces looking out. Glancing at the sky, and the magic, fire, ice, and other forces being thrown back and forth, the Ranger frowned then looked back into the cell. It was only a matter of time before the building was hit. These prisoners were helpless to protect themselves. Hank called out, "I need a way into those cells!"

A chuckle from overhead drew his attention to the Faerie Dragon. Amber flew to Varla's shoulder as the Illusionist continued to fire arrows. The little dragon used clever claws to unclasp the lilac cloak Varla wore then flew it over Hank's head and dropped it. "There you go!" She flew over the undead horde before the Ranger could reply.

Without much thought, Hank draped the cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head. He could feel the light hum of energy surround him like an embrace. Oddly, it made him feel closer to Sheila. Hank pushed the thought away as he slipped past Eric through the prison door.

Next to Raevonn lay the great sword Timothy had left behind. Hank grinned and grabbed the sword, slipping back out, ignoring the Healer's surprise at the free-floating weapon moving past her.

"Eric, get this to Timothy!" Hank lowered the hood briefly, appearing before the startled Cavalier who used his shield to fling a ghast up against a diving wight.

"Huh?" Eric shook his head, swiping a hand across his blood-smeared forehead. "Damn, Hank! Where'd. . ."

The blond shook his head and thrust the weapon into Eric's free right hand. "Varla," was all he said as he lifted the hood once more.

As Hank disappeared, Eric grimaced and turned to his left where Timothy stood, trying to block flying undead with only his arms and legs. "Tim! Here!" The raven-haired Cavalier tossed the heavy sword towards the lighter-haired Knight.

Timothy dodged another ghast attack and, fortunately, the weapon thrown his way. He dove and wrapped both hands around the hilt, pulling it up as he stood. Swinging the great sword, the eighteen year old was stunned to see it slice right through the animated flying corpses with the ease of a razor to paper. "All right!" he shouted in triumph; he had a _Weapon of Power_ now.

Bobby heard the yell of delight from beyond the horde and he grimaced in answer. He was glad someone was happy; he sure wasn't. The rock barraged had stopped. And as Dekion on his war-bird had taken to the sky to deal with the armored figure on Nightmare, the Barbarian and Acrobat were stuck on the ground trying to keep the undead host from killing Bobby's unarmed sister and her Elf friend. The weaponless pair had run into battle ahead of Bobby and was trying to weave their way through taloned hands and razor-sharp teeth, heading only they knew where. Bobby swung his club and hit two ghouls-_when did ghouls joined the party?_-at once, sending the creeps smashing into the fort wall in a jumble of rotted body parts.

Diana, using her javelin to vault over the desperately fighting Barbarian, flew into the center of the rampaging undead. Landing on a particularly large and grotesque skeleton, she felt the satisfying crunch of bones breaking under her all-too-living weight. "May wanna get that x-rayed," she quipped as she tumbled off the creature. Rolling past two more enemies, the Acrobat sprang up before a startled orc. "Who invited you, Pig Face?" she asked as she lifted her javelin and slammed the butt end into his nose, shattering flesh and cartilage. "Guys! They're making it up the cliff!"

"I can see that!" the Elfish Bard screamed back, veering between a wight and a ghoul. She ducked the meaty fist of an orc, heading for the prison doorway and relative safety. Despite her tortured flesh, the young woman fought for all she was worth, kicking out with a bare foot or jabbing with curled fists. Avah remained on Sheila's tail, impressed by how the redhead was able to duck so many attackers. "We need my pipes," she reminded her friend, pleased when the Thief turned her path towards the door rather than the other _Children of Power_ defending the prison: for that was ultimately what they were doing. They were protecting the helpless beings trapped inside, waiting to be the next souls the vampire fed on by throwing them into that hellish wall.

Sheila nodded, not answering Avah's request. She had thought leaving the people locked up would keep them safe until after the fight, but she'd been wrong. The magic battle in the air threatened everyone. The prisoners needed the chance to get to the safety of the old fort next door where the walls were thicker.

As she ducked, Sheila tucked into a ball and skidded along the ground right past a zombie. Using a trick learned years ago from Diana, the Thief sprang up out of her crouch just beyond the monster. She smiled grimly as its claws met empty air behind her. Just a couple more feet until the door. Side-stepping a grasping wight, Sheila dove for the open doorway of the squat prison. She grinned at the sight of a whirlwind of colors spinning on the roof above but as quickly ducked inside away from the beautiful sight. Behind her, the injured Bard awkwardly slipped through the gaping door. Sheila was brought up short as she collided with something unseen.

"Whoa! What. . .?"

Invisible hands encircled her arms in a strong yet gentle grip, steadying her. She began fighting her unknown captor, landing a solid blow with one hand. He gasped and let go. Prepared to continue the fight, Sheila stopped at the sound of the pained baritone voice.

"Right, the hood. I forgot." Hank appeared in front of her, arm wrapped around his bandaged chest protectively. He wore only trousers, boots, and her Invisibility Cloak. The years had filled him out but he was obviously the Ranger she'd known so long ago.

"Hank!" Sheila reached for him, guilt welling at the sight of the bloody bandages. "I'm so sorry. . ."

He cut her off with a hand to her shoulder. "Not your fault. I need to get these prisoners out." He looked down the hall desperately. "They're sitting ducks here."

She nodded. "Avah and I were coming to do that."

"And get my pipes," the dirty, bedraggled Elf added.

"Right," Hank said, as if just remembering something. He let go his chest and unhooked Sheila's cloak from his neck. With a smile, he offered it to the injured Thief, mentally wincing at her swollen eye and clotted cheek wound. "This is yours."

With a return smile, she reached for the cloak but he didn't hand it over. Instead, he draped it over her shoulders, his arms around her momentarily. Looking up into his eyes as he began to fasten the binding at her throat, Sheila's heart sped up. All the old buried emotions from six years past resurfaced. She studied the strong features of the man, finding the youth she'd fallen in love with; Sheila wondered if he felt anything for her after all this time. Her heart contracted again as he took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides.

Light blue eyes met teal briefly and suddenly emotions threatened to engulf Hank. Tenderness, pride, and love warred inside him, bringing with them an almost overwhelming onslaught of memories-and sudden understanding. He had forgotten because of the _Void_, but he had been unconsciously fighting the returning memories because he knew he needed to concentrate without distraction on his quest to rebuild and reunite the Realm. Worry for the others would have torn him in two, especially his feelings for Sheila. Love twisted through him and he had to fight it. There was still a job to do, and-he had no idea how _she_ would feel about _him_ after all these years. It wasn't like he had been terribly open and welcoming during their first three years in the Realm. Regretfully, he stepped back.

"Hey, Humans," Avah snapped her fingers. She grinned at the telling looks on the couple's faces. So _this_ was the missing owner of the Elfish bow: very nice. He almost could pass for an Elf with such grace and beauty. No wonder Sheila was in love with her friend. Avah approved. It looked like he shared the petite Thief's interest, too.

As the pair pulled their eyes away from each other and looked at the Bard, she smiled wider. "Pipes. Me. I still exist."

"So do I." The unexpected voice sounded from the floor, sarcasm ranging through the raspy feminine tones.

"Raevonn," Avah and Hank said simultaneously.

The foot-injured Elf held up a hand and grimaced. "Present and resting," she said, drawing a light laugh from Avah. Glaring at the smaller Elf, Raevonn said, "so we need to get Eliavah's pipes, free the prisoners, and destroy the wall."

Sheila's teal eyes widened in horror. "But Raun's in there! We can't kill him that way!"

Stiffening at the mention of the Bladesinger, the Healer shook her head. "I know they threw him in there. Once someone joins the wall, the soul is sucked out. Raun is nothing more than an animated corpse in there. I won't have him exist like that." Her tone was harsh.

Tears welled up in Avah's sea-green eyes. "I should never. . ."

Raevonn glared up at her, cutting off her words. "My husband, your brother, is dead. We grieve later. To free his soul, we need to destroy the wall and the fiend who created it."

Avah wiped a dirty sleeve over her face. "The lich," she confirmed.

"No," Raevonn countered. "The vampire."

At the look of surprise from the other three, the Healer continued in a sure tone. "I, too, though the demi-lich the true evil. I was wrong. While he is the ultimate master here, he can only show himself in that armor. He is still trying to gather his strength. The vampire is the creator of that wall and those undead."

"He wants our weapons to combine their energy and destroy his master," Hank added.

"Venger used to want to do that, too," Sheila breathed on a whisper.

Raevonn straightened, leaning against the wall. "I know how to kill the fiend if he'd only show himself again. There are no enemies left in here or the fort." She gestured with one bruised hand towards the western hallway jutting at a ninety degree angle to the one they were in. "Eliavah can go to the fort for her pipes and the rest of our gear. Sheila and Hank can release the prisoners. I'll keep an eye out for the vampire."

The others nodded agreement, but Hank added, "now I just have to find the keys. . ."

Sheila shook her head, pulling out her packet of picks. "I know which two to use and how to twist now. Let's go."

Unquestioning, Hank offered a smile of approval and took her elbow firmly, guiding her to the first cell.

One glance after the pair and Avah turned to run down the L-branch hall, looking for the door into the fort.

Raevonn turned back to watching the door and the battle outside. She admired the way the human Cavalier controlled the Griffon Shield, wielding the field for both protection and a form of pushing attack. She would have to tell Avah to add to the ballad of the Energy Weapons. Human warriors could truly be as impressive as their demi-human kin.

Unaware of the scrutiny, Eric continued to duck fliers. He thrust the shield, and therefore the protective field, at oncoming enemies, trying desperately to keep them away from both himself and the once more unarmed Terri next to him. She'd run out of rocks within easy distance. Why the hell had he let her talk him into bringing her along, weaponless, the Cavalier questioned himself repeatedly. No answer changed the fact that he now had to deal with it.

"Terri, get over here!"

"Like I haven't been trying?" The Dreamer shot a glare of annoyance at the Cavalier but froze.

Harsh screams-the shriek of metal scraping across metal-flashes of color spotting the valley below-sunlight glinting off armor and weapons. A golden arrow of pure energy sailed from overhead to land among the group of Goblin archers. The flash from the Goblins followed screams and anarchy. A burly Orc roared at his panicking archers, trying to bring control to the small group. But the Dreamer's attention fell on the figure climbing the steps before her.

Smiling widely, the pale-skinned man approached, coming closer, wrapped in the foul stench of decay. Freddie launched himself at the oncoming enemy only to be grasped midair by one elegant hand. The dog yelped, a crunch sounded, and the man threw the limp canine aside. Unable to help her pet, Terri screamed and curled into a ball; she turned her head, her hands shooting up protectively over her face. Her vision was coming true. Soon, she would live through the ending, the part she hadn't seen while in her trance in the Dragons' Graveyard, like she hadn't seen the attack on Freddie. She trembled as the man reached for her, evil radiating from him. From above her, a steady voice, calm amid the chaos, spoke in a fierce tone, "ask me for help-"

The vampire looked up, hate filling his souless eyes as he took in the rigid stance of the Cavalier, golden shield glinting in the midday sun.

Eric twisted his mouth into a semblance of a leer. He shifted so that he was standing between Terri and the vampire. In a light baritone, firm and controlled, Eric said again, "ask me for help-"

Rearing back, the vampire snarled at the human. He recognized the man he'd toyed with the day before, the first who had not succumbed to his hypnotic suggestions. Others had failed to follow his whispered suggestions, as well, but this young human had been the first to resist. Straightening, still below the raven-haired man due to the steps he stood on, the vampire matched Eric's leer with his own evil version. "Go to hell," he repeated the blond human's answer from earlier that day.

"Fair enough," Eric spat back at the beast, lifting his shield high above his head. Sunlight glinted off the edge of the _Weapon of Power_, running along the golden metal much like a razor in the morning light. Without another word, Eric brought his shield smashing down on the vampire's head and neck, resisting the temptation to slice the fiend's head off like he had that orc so long ago. Instead, the Cavalier used the full strength of his arms and the full power of his protective force field to bash the beast unconscious. He called to the cowering girl behind him, "Terri, you okay?"

Stunned, the eighteen year old slowly uncurled, seeing the unconscious vampire before her. Without its hypnosis, his true appearance brought the bile rising in her throat, twisting her stomach.

It was grey-skinned and partly shriveled, long clawed fingers and toes where before manicured digits and fine polished boots had been. Its face was sunken, the cheeks hollowed, and its eyes were empty sockets. The ragged clothes on its shriveled body hung, draped with bits of grave dirt and blood. The long beautiful tresses it sported in its illusion were gone, revealing a bald, pitted head, the skin so taut the skin formed to its skull. Gone was the attractive human appearance, replaced by the true evil undead thing it was.

Eric reached back and gripped Terri's arm. He pulled her to her feet, turning her from the sight of her dog's body nearby still not tearing his eyes from the thing before them. A sudden cry of triumph startled the pair and he whirled, shield lifted protectively.

Raevonn pointed at the unconscious creature on the top of the stairs. "He's mine now, Humans!" She crawled from the building, her swollen, damaged feet dragging behind her. There was an almost unholy glint in the Elf's violet-ringed blue eyes, reminiscent of the undead foe she hunted.

The Cavalier didn't argue. Instead, he tugged Terri towards Freddie, asking in a steady voice, "you have the net, right?"

"Net?" tears filled her eyes at the sight of the crumpled figure. Sudden understanding lit her denim eyes and Terri pulled off her pack, tugging the Healing Net from the leather bag. "Hang on, Freddie!" She dropped to her knees, laying the woven weapon over her dog, watching for the tell-a-tale glow like last time.

It didn't happen.

"No! Why won't it work?" She desperately looked up at the man standing protectively over her. "Eric? What do I do?"

He shook his head, misery in his dark brown eyes. He had no clue how to help the girl. Obviously the net had limited power: it couldn't bring back the dead. Eric knelt next to Terri and wrapped an arm around her, hugging her to him. "I'm sorry, Terri. Really." His voice was soft.

A yelp from above drew their attention and a war-bird dove straight for the roof above them. Lorne rode the great bird's back, knees holding on in place of the traditional harness. The Gypsy shot a bolt of pure lightning at a pair of ghasts diving for Eric and Terri. "Wake up, _Caviar_! You're still on the menu!"

Eric winced at the lame humor and turned to the Dreamer in his arm. "Get inside the prison, Terri. You'll be safer there."

It was an order, not a suggestion, and Terri obeyed. She heaved the body of her dog, still wrapped in the net, into her arms and staggered into the questionable protection of the squat building. Stunned, she looked at the slow moving prisoners coming from cells as they were unlocked, one by one. She barely noticed Raevonn crawling past her towards the vampire's limp form.

Kosar leaned down and whispered to the lamasu he rode, "we need to land there."

The beast seemed to understand because it swooped down and padded gently onto the stone outcropping next to the Cavalier and his victim. Kosar reached over the side of the man-faced lion. "Raevonn?" he asked the Elf still trying to crawl to the steps.

The short-haired woman looked up and smiled grimly. "Kosar, I assume. Grab that vampire and help me mount your fine friend." She lifted her arms almost imperiously.

Unprotesting, Kosar looked to Eric. "Help me, Eric?" He slid off the beast and lifted the nauseating corpse onto the golden furred back of his temporary mount. Eric turned and picked up the Elf with surprising ease: she was light for her size. He turned back to Kosar who had remounted and was shifting the dead weight of the evil creature. Between the two men, they managed to get the Elf onto the lamasu as well and the beast launched himself into the air.

With a shake of his head, Eric turned his attention to the horde of undead still cutting him off from Diana and Bobby. Shock coursed through him at the sight of Uni as she used the whip with grace and skill. He supposed it was because the whip had been made from an alicorn, but still, it was disturbing to see her in battle. The Cavalier ran forward to aid his long-time companion. "Coming behind you, Uni!" he warned so as not to get slashed across the face with the energy cord.

On the roof, Lorne shot another bolt of lightning and moved to avoid the whirling Dervish. He stepped beside the eerily silent Magician and gave Presto a curious glance. "Cat got your tongue?" he quipped only to receive a slightly annoyed glance from the ginger-haired older man. "Uh, okay." Lorne turned back to scan the group of undead, noting with some satisfaction that Bobby and Diana had made quite a pile on their side of the mass. Figured with their weapons, though.

The war-bird launched herself to shoot straight towards the aerial battle.

Dekion, on his own mount, shot a well-aimed bolt of light directly into Nightmare's glowing red eyes.

The stallion couldn't turn in time and was momentarily blinded, rearing up and screaming his displeasure. The armored figure had trouble sitting his enraged mount. With pure malice, the hell horse blindly breathed a spray of flame, swinging his head back and forth in an attempt to hit his enemy. It worked.

The war-bird caught the full force of the flames, screaming in pain as he fell from the sky. Only by sheer force of will was Dekion able to leap from his falling mount's back and onto the passing figure of Tiamat, grasping her tail in desperation.

The five-headed dragon glared at the figure crawling up her tail, but did not dislodge him. Rather, she chose to ignore the insignificant human as she turned back to shoot acid from the mouth of her black head, watching in little satisfaction as some of the dracolich's bones began to spit and hiss. Having never been ridden, the dragon queen felt odd with a rider on her back, but he seemed more intent on fighting off that stupid horse than hindering her, so she allowed him to settle and aim his Light Sword at the demi-lich and its mount. That pair would be her next target, after she had finished destroying this unholy abomination of dragonkind. With a screech, Tiamat fastened her claws on the still steaming back of the dracolich, her flame-immune red head effectively blocking the hell fire from its mouth. Thinking with glee that the human would either have to hold on tight or fall to its death, Tiamat began to barrel-roll her prey, throwing its aim off as they tumbled through the sky.

Dekion held on out of sheer desperation, no longer aiming, arms and hands locked under the right wing of the huge five-headed dragon. Once they leveled out, he would be sure to seek out a safer mount.

Suddenly a flash of brilliant violet light sprang up from behind the prison, cascading over the _Children of Power_ and rushing down into the valley. An unholy screeching wind followed, filled with moans of despair and rending shrieks of pain. Before anyone could react, undead were crumpling in heaps of decayed flesh and bone dust. In the air, Tiamat's roll came to an end as the dracolich disintigrated from between her talons.

Sick to his stomach from the aerial acrobatics, Dekion laid his face against the suede-like hide of the dragon queen.

Tiamat didn't lament losing her foe. Rather, she turned to face the Nightmare and the armored figure still riding it. In her reverberating hoarse voice, Tiamat ordered her not-so-welcome rider, "fight with me or fall to your death, Human. I give no free rides." She swooped at the pair, rumbling low as the Celestial Knight once more raised his _Weapon of Power_ to aim at the unholy team before them.

The demi-lich laughed low, a bass rumble of pure evil, as it raised a hand. Darkness swept over the field of battle, descending into the valley, chilling the sun-baked land with an unholy blanket of pure cold. Raevonn had been right. The master had only been gathering his strength.

The true enemy had finally revealed himself.

Continued in Chapter Thirty-Two: _Champions of Power_


	32. Champions of Power

Title: _Champions of Power_

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 32 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Violence, sexual innuendoes, undead, language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Too many people to count. The only non-adult is Bobby, who is two months from his eighteenth birthday. Everyone else, including non-humans, are considered adults.

Summary: They have to fight the demi-lich

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

As darkness descended, Hank called out to the stumbling prisoners, "everyone to the fort!" He tried, with Sheila's help, to guide them in the right direction but people ran into each other in the gloom. Someone slammed into Hank and he grabbed the person, grunting from the painful impact.

"Sorry, Hank," Sheila gasped. "They're panicking!"

"Yeah," he pulled her against his chest, backed against the wall, out of the way.

More confused noises and cries from those slamming into each other and the stone walls sounded before a soft glowing globe appeared, gently bobbing above their heads. In a calm, friendly voice Amber called out, "follow my light. I'll lead you safely." She turned, glowing rock clutched in her back talons, and flew slowly towards the L-hall branch. The prisoners began following her, calming with the appearance of light and the sight of the beautiful creature carrying it. Terri's kneeling form was lost to the dark as the mass of people moved around the corner.

Hank and Sheila stayed against the wall, the Thief held securely against the Ranger's lithe form. She felt the slow rise and fall of Hank's chest against her back, heard his soft breath in her ear, and took comfort from his nearness. Even though they had to find a way to defeat a demi-lich, considered by many to be one of the most powerful of the undead, she knew they'd find a way. Somehow they always did. It was why the Dungeon Master had summoned them so many years ago.

A secondary gentle glow entered from the rear prison courtyard, drawing the attention of the unarmed couple and revealing Terri's kneeling form pressed against a wall, cradling her dog in her arms. Surprise mixed with joy then worry as they recognized Kosar entering, carrying the unconscious Raevonn in his arms; the amulet at his chest glowed warmly.

He looked at them, his face grim. Without bothering to open his mouth, he surprised the trio by telepathically saying, "_She threw the vampire into the wall. It's gone. She's still alive-barely._"

Terri, sobbing, stood without a word and gently unwrapped the net from Freddie's body. She stepped past the last of the fleeing prisoners and laid the net over the Elf, still held in the Psionicist's arms. This time its glow filled the hall with a golden-white light and Raevonn's swollen, mutilated foot re-knit itself; her wounds began to close; her breathing steadied.

Violet-ringed blue eyes opened to gaze up into Kosar's concerned blue ones. "We won?" She asked huskily.

"Not yet," Hank said and guided Sheila away from the wall to the others. "We still have that demi-lich to fight."

"You might want to try what the vampire was going to do," the Healer said, her words trailing off as she stared towards the hall branch.

Avah was making her way around the corner, empty-handed. She looked serious and angry; her hands clenched into tight fists. At Sheila's worried glance, the Bard shook her head. "Never made it to the fort. The herd of prisoners cut me off and near trampled me. I came back," she added unnecessarily. She sighed and ran a hand roughly through her dirty, tangled hair. "I'll never find my way in that scared mass," she gestured behind her in disgust. "I guess I do this without magic."

Surprise crossed Sheila's face. "Your pipes are magic?"

The small Elf gave her an amused grin, banishing the anger from her sea-green eyes. "I would make such a fuss over a conventional set of pipes?"

"_What was the vampire going to do?_" Kosar reminded them of the problem at hand.

Hank frowned, not entirely comfortable with Kosar's newly displayed telepathy. "He wanted to combine the energy of our weapons. He said," and the Ranger grimaced at the unwelcome memory, "that the right combination of _Weapons of Power_ can make someone. . ."

"Make someone the most powerful being in the Realms or destroy that being," Raevonn finished. She slipped out of Kosars arms, catching the net before it hit the floor. For the first time since being captured the night before, she felt well and strong.

Kosar frowned. "_But which weapons?_"

"And in what order?" Terri asked softly, voice laced with rising anger. She had lost her dog years ago traveling back home. Now that she had found him again, she was reliving the loss. The Dreamer understood fully Bobby's need to strike out at something, to inflict the pain she was feeling on the one responsible.

Worry crossed Hank's face at the sound in the teen's voice. It reminded him of the anger Bobby had displayed when Uni was so badly wounded: the time they attacked Venger in the _Dragons' Graveyard_. He looked at Terri and opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a shrug.

"Back home, Bobby got obsessed with everything to do with the Realm. He kept these notebooks filled with information and stuff. He mentioned how you guys used your weapons to get to the _Dragons' Graveyard_; you combined their energy." She reached up and touched the locked at her throat, under her tunic. Her voice softened and she added, "that was how I figured out how to get back here. All the weapons are drawn to the _Graveyard_."

"Order of weapons," Kosar finally spoke out loud. He began frantically patting his pockets, transferring his morning star from one hand to the other as he searched. "The song," he murmured, "the one from Varen's safe." The man lifted his eyes to meet the others. "It mentions the Energy Bow."

From nearby, Varen's condescending voice cracked out in a bitter laugh. "I wondered why that vampire wanted me to hide a stupid song," The former king was in the doorway of his cell, though they'd unlocked the door-no one wanted to be responsible for his death if the prison was hit.

"So, does anyone know the song?" Sheila asked, skirting around Hank to put his reassuring form between her and the man who'd thrown her in prison for refusing his sexual advances. She could hear the others outside, still fighting in the freezing gloom. Despite the destruction of the undead horde there were plenty of enemies left as well as the demi-lich and his Nightmare.

The orange-haired man snorted and turned back into his cell, striding quickly to the window. "You're all fools if you think you can fight Master Eno. Without Venger, a new evil had to fill the void." He watched the flashing energy signatures from in front and above the prison rain down into the valley below. The aerial battle between the mounted demi-lich and the mounted five-headed dragon was less visible but their strikes sent shudder after shudder through the prison building. Calling out in a fateful voice, Varen advised, "you would do better to join his efforts at conquest. He grants favor to his allies."

"Fool!" Raevonn spat and strode purposefully towards the cell, stopping only when Kosar gripped her shoulders in strong hands. She didn't fight him but continued to call out, "a demi-lich cares nothing for mortals. It can travel the planes and seeks only more power, more magic. It will use you as it consumes you."

Never taking his eyes from the scene outside, Varen laughed bitterly. "What do I care? I have twice lost my kingdom because of that bitch." He didn't clarify what woman he spoke of, but the group in the hall stiffened, knowing he was blaming Sheila for all his problems. "No man follows me and I barely survive as it is," his voice sounded bitter.

"Then join us," Hank offered, his tone expressing his sincerity. "By helping us defeat this thing, you will be a hero. I'm sure you'll be granted a kingdom in their gratitude." He knew he was setting things up for a despotic self-righteous future leader to deal with, but in the situation, the Ranger felt it was the better choice to _have_ a future than to avoid one possible future.

Varen turned in his cell and paused. He strode quickly back to his door and glared down the hall at the _Children of Power_ and their Elfish allies. He studied the blond man, noting the blood no longer being confined by his bandages, running down to pool at his waistband; the injury must be sapping his strength as they talked. The pretty Thief was little better: one side of her face so swollen that she would have no peripheral vision and probably no little amount of pain when she spoke or even changed expression. The dirty little Elf was suffering, to a less degree, from the beatings she'd taken, but she had no protective clothing-even shoes. The other three didn't appear to be hurt, but Varen could plainly see that the only weapon the group had was that morning star clutched by the brown-skinned man.

And yet-

He glanced back towards the window and the flashes of light. Despite their injuries, despite their weaknesses, these young men and women were willing to fight Master Eno, the Nameless One, the undead ruler of evil.

They couldn't win. No one could win against a being whose body was in all probability hidden on a different plane of existence. But they _would_ try. These former pupils of the Dungeon Master had defeated the Master once before, sent him back to his dimensional prison. They would try again, despite the increase to his power and the decrease to their own.

Varen looked back at the man, the Ranger, before him. Lifting his eyes to meet the open, honest light blue ones of this _Child of the Realm_, the former king made his decision. "The song I had was unique," he began.

"No it wasn't," Avah countered. "I know all but the most obscure songs the Elves have written." She turned to Kosar, "what were some of the words. I can tell you what song it is."

The former king strode from his cell and straight up to the bedraggled little Elf. She barely reached his shoulder. Towering over her, making no effort to diminish his impressive height, Varen glared down at the woman, who glared back at him in defiance. His voice was harsh as he claimed, "no. Mine was unique. The vampire said it was one of a kind."

"And you believed him?" she scoffed, actually laughing up at Varen.

Hank cut them both off with a gesture of one hand. "Varen, did he say why his was unique?"

Giving the Elf a superior look, Varen turned to the Ranger. "No, but he did say that I was to protect it with my life." He shot a glare to the Thief who'd captured his song and his interest.

Sheila deliberately ignored the tall man. She hated that they'd suddenly made him an ally, but she couldn't fault Hank's unspoken reasoning. Anyone they could get to help fight the greater enemy was a boon. She knew they would have to deal with the consequences later. "I didn't have time to look at it," she added softly.

Kosar sighed, noting Avah's building irritation. He put a hand to his head and met the livid sea-green gaze with his own blue one. "You say you know the song?"

"Of course," she crossed her arms over her battered chest. "Tell me some of the words and I can recite it for you-or sing it if you prefer." Confidence bolstered her voice and she straightened to her full unimpressive height of five feet one inch.

The Psionicist wracked his brain for some of the lines of the barely studied song. "Uh-there's a line about a unicorn and a snake." He looked to the Elf who waited patiently. "And another about an energy unseen." That line had grabbed his memory because it seemed so odd.

With a nod, shooting a superior look back at the human king, Avah confirmed, "_The Jewel of Eliavah_. It's about the last battle of the Elf Archer Eliavah and how she aided in banishing the evil that pervaded the land."

Excitement charged the small group and Sheila asked, "you know the words, Avah?"

The Elf woman snorted in amusement. "Of course. What kind of Bard would I be if I didn't know the words to a song about one of the greatest Elfish heroes in history? Besides," she flashed her grin at the redhead, "I was named for her so I learned everything about her that I could."

Terri finally spoke up, her voice shaking but her manner firm. "The song is about how she defeated an evil in the Realm? An evil like this Eno guy?"

"Yes," the bard looked surprised. "I never really worried about what evil she helped fight, but a demi-lich would fit the circumstances." She offered a wide smile of approval to the Dreamer. "Which part do you want to hear?"

Varen snorted. "The part about how she destroyed the beast, naturally," the man sneered, causing the Elf to stiffen and her smile to reform into a glare of pure hate.

Sheila took a breath and stepped between the combatants. She shot Varen a warning glare then turned to her friend. "Please, Avah. Does the song say how she got rid of the bad guy?"

"It's in the form of a riddle," Avah let her eyes meet Sheila's. "But, yes, if you can figure out a riddle, you can figure out how she did it."

Hank's soft laughter drew the eyes of all there, surprised at the odd response. "So this is why Dungeon Master gave us endless riddles to solve? He was preparing us for a fight with Eno?" The blond shook his head, arm once more over his bleeding torso. "What's the riddle, Avah?"

She smiled at him in return and recited:

_To each his own  
In golden shelter  
The unicorn unleashes the snake  
Then a sharp divide  
One to twist in the wind  
Encircled by the mariner's charge  
The other to cut through the darkness  
Join in the energy unseen  
Pierced by an emerald shaft  
A crack of wood  
An echo of steel  
With the power to invoke  
And bound in chains  
Let free the jewel of the Elves_

"I don't know if we have time to translate all that," Sheila worried, clutching onto Hank's arm as the prison shook from a magical blow. "Oh no! Presto and Varla are up there!" She looked towards the ceiling, fear shadowing her teal eyes.

Hank cupped Sheila's chin with a gentle hand and forced her to look at him. "The way we can help them is to solve this riddle." He looked at the others and said, voice sure, "one line at a time then. '_To each his own._' That seems simple enough, if we can figure out who it refers to and what he has to have."

"It would be so much easier if everyone was here. Presto's the really smart one," Sheila softly moaned, shuddering as another strike shook the building. She looked at the others. "Maybe we could scream out to them, have them retreat in here?"

Kosar's face lit up and he said, "I can talk to them. I'm a telepath." Then he remembered the difficulty with contacting Diana and he shook his head, smile disappearing. "But I can't talk to Diana for some reason." He turned miserable blue eyes on the others. Noting the two elves and the unfamiliar Terri, he asked hopefully, "are any of you telepaths? I contacted one earlier." These voices weren't right for the woman he'd contacted. "She asked about a bow," he added, moving towards the prison door to try to glimpse who had Hank's weapon.

"Varla," Hank confirmed. "Varla's got my bow."

"And she has telepathic abilities," Sheila's eyes lit up. "She doesn't use them often; she says they make her uncomfortable. But she _is_ a telepath."

Raevonn followed Kosar to the door and frowned. "Well, get her to use it right now. The more minds on this problem the better." She looked over at the others. "Anyone who is a _Child of Power_ needs to help."

Terri frowned. "Why?"

"Weapons," Raevonn promptly supplied. "The line '_to each his own_' is about weapons. The ballad is about more than Eliavah the Archer. It's about the group of heroes who defended the Realm. Eliavah was merely one of them. There were thirteen defenders."

Avah shook her head, frowning. "Why does that sound wrong?"

The short-haired Elf turned to her brethren and shook her head. "One line for each weapon, Eliavah. Thirteen lines, not including the advice that the weapon has to be used by its controller and no one else."

Kosar reached out without further prompting, searching for and quickly finding Varla and Bobby. "_I need to speak to anyone with a_ Weapon of Power_. We may have a way to defeat this guy._"

"_You can talk to them with their minds, Kosar,_" Bobby thought back distractedly. He was a bit peeved that the darkness hadn't prevented the Orcs and Lizardmen from attempting to scale the cliffside.

Varla's voice in their heads was a surprise to Bobby, but Kosar accepted it thankfully. _"I can help. Who do I contact?_" She fired the bow again.

Thankful that the woman wasn't refusing to use her apparently hated ability, Kosar answered, "_I can contact most, but not Diana. If you can link her in?_" He was also thankful when Bobby didn't question his inability to link with the woman he had loved.

"_Yes,_" Varla said as she reached out to touch the Acrobat's mind. "_Diana?_"

Startled, Diana nearly jumped, glancing around quickly before smashing a persistent Orc over the head to send him tumbling back to the valley floor. "Yes? Is that Varla?" She hadn't heard that voice in years, but the resemblance to the Illusionist's mental contact six years ago in the prison and the tower was enough to drag the memory out. Fortunately, no one seemed to care if Diana appeared to be talking to herself.

Varla smiled in response. "_Yes. All the_ Children of Power _need to speak and this seemed the easiest way._"

Diana hit another foe and grinned. "I'm game. What do we talk about?" She saw Bobby's reaction, either to her spoken words or the mental touch, and grinned wider at the teen's surprise.

Mentally, Varla contacted Kosar, "_I will connect everyone. It will be easier than passing messages from Diana to you for everyone else. Let everyone speak to me._" When she got no protest, Varla took a deep breath and reached out for the others, one by one. She began with the easiest: Presto. The Illusionist had always found the Magician's mind the smoothest to connect with, though she never questioned why. Something bonded them. "_Presto._"

"_Varla?_" Presto's mental voice sounded surprised, but he didn't sound upset by the interruption to his spell. He wasn't able to concentrate well enough to guide his hat's energy.

"_Yes,_" Varla replied, firing another shot but missing widely in her diminished attention. She reached out to another familiar mind. "_Sheila?_"

"_I'm here, Varla,_" the Thief responded. The two women were thankful for the contact. Their separation had been a source of worry for both.

Slowly the Illusionist contacted each of the others: Hank, Timothy, Eric, Uni, Ayisha, Lorne, Avah, Raevonn, Terri, and finally the last one with a visible _Weapon of Power_. "_Hello, Celestial Knight,_" she gently probed.

Dekion blinked at the gentle, unfamiliar voice in his mind. He didn't question it or protest it, merely accepting the odd circumstance. Instead, aiming another shot of light at Nightmare, he answered, "_My name is Dekion. How may I help you?_"

"_I am Varla. The_ Children of Power _have a solution to our problem._" Varla's voice sounded distracted. "_We are connected now,_" she informed the group.

Once more Avah recited the riddle followed by the explanation, "_The_ Weapons of Power _must be used in the order the riddle states._" She frowned as she joined Raevonn and Kosar by the door. "We will need to be outside for this," she advised aloud.

Nodding wordlessly, Raevonn strode from the questionable protection of the prison followed by the others. They found themselves joining Uni, Eric, and Timothy on the rise, Bobby and Diana further along in front of the fort. Ayisha, Lorne, Presto, and Varla were still on the roof, despite the random hits the building had taken. It appeared that the _Children of Power_ weren't the intended targets, except Dekion on Tiamat. Even the climbing foe had given up, freeing the Barbarian and the Acrobat.

"_To each his own,_" Presto mentally recited back at the group, surprised by Varla's abilities until her recalled their mental contact years ago.

Raevonn called verbally, "each must use his own weapon. The thirteen energies will combine into one."

"That's wrong," Avah groaned out, still wishing she could remember what bothered her.

The taller Elf rolled her eyes and shot a glare at her smaller companion. "Count the lines, Eliavah. Thirteen."

Suddenly, the Bard shook her head. "We must be missing something. This is a cycle, Raevonn. Each time he is banished by the _Champions of Power_, it takes another _Weapon_ to help form the spell. Thirteen last time, but this time should be fourteen."

Sheila groaned. "So that's why the scroll was hidden. The vampire's version must have had another line to it." She looked to Kosar, who had moved to the far eastern part of the cliff, beyond Timothy with his great sword.

Kosar looked back down the line and frowned. "_Yeah, but I can't remember it, and Jaref has the scroll._"

"_Father?_" Varla mentally questioned the others. She didn't think she was strong enough to call out to the other end of the valley, too. She regretted not working with this power more.

"Wait! I remember!" Terri's shout was pure audio. She pulled the locket from under her tunic. "Dungeon Master said that my arrival marked the end of the beginning." She lifted the golden pendant; it glowed softly in her hand. Terri looked at the fierce battle above them. "He told me to follow my heart!"

"I don't see how that helps, Terr," Bobby panted beside her.

Terri felt a swell of strength just knowing they had found each other again. She offered a genuine smile to her best friend. "The last line of the song. I remember it because it was so close to what Dungeon Master told me." She turned her eyes back on the demi-lich and her voice dropped to a serious, hard tone. "It said '_let it begin with the heart_'." With those words, Terri closed her eyes and willed her strength into her locket. She was unsure what the _Weapon of Power_ could do, having never even considered the piece of jewelry as a weapon until that moment. But she was willing to try.

Gently, with growing luminescence, the locket glowed golden. The shine enveloped the group then the hillside until it broke off into a golden ball of light. The light ball floated up into the air before the Dreamer. She drew in a breath, eyes opening. "_What now?_" her voice had dropped to a whisper, though everyone heard it through Varla's connection.

"In golden shelter," recited Eric. He lifted his shield and the golden energy glow drew the eyes of the others. He bounced the weapon up against Terri's golden light and it grew, shining brighter with the added energy of the shield.

"Right," Hank called. "Everyone get ready with your weapons."

Uni snapped her Alicorn Whip, calling out clearly, "the unicorn unleashes the snake!" Her magical energy cord encircled the globe, causing it to grow yet again as she pulled back her weapon. It had turned silver.

"Then a sharp divide," called Timothy, rushing around the others to slice the light ball with his great sword. The globe turned white, seemed to shudder, then split into two, flying in two directions."

Kosar lifted his morning star and let loose the whirlwind. "_One to twist in the wind,_" he mentally recited only to hear Lorne's mental voice excitedly tack on, "_encircled by the mariner's charge,_" as the Gypsy shot lightning from his trident, hitting the ball buffeted by the wind.

The other ball had floated up high out of reach, but a shaft of pure white light cut through the gloom and struck it, bounding it back towards the group on the hill. As the two halves flew towards the heroes, Dekion's reverberating voice mentally called "_the other to cut through the darkness._" Unfortunately, his distraction almost cost his life as the demi-lich shot pure hellfire at the man on the dragon. Tiamat barrel rolled once more to avoid the strike.

They couldn't spare any more attention to their endangered comrade. "Energy unseen," Hank called out. "Who's that?"

Flipping her cloak from her shoulders, Sheila called, "Me." She held up her cloak as the balls headed right for her. She caught and enveloped them in her cloak. "Join in the energy unseen," she called again and unfolded her cloak. The globe had reformed, larger, and colored a light lilac shade matching Sheila's faint energy signature.

"My turn," called Diana. She hefted the green javelin and lit it up to full glow. As she hurled the weapon towards the globe, she called "pierced by an emerald shaft!" The javelin sailed into the lilac globe and out the other side, clattering to the ground. The sphere changed a brilliant green color.

A loud crash reverberated as Bobby slammed his Thunder Club against it. "A crack of wood," he called. The globe rebounded back from the Barbaria, glowing a bright yellow.

His voice was covered by Ayisha's mental shout of "_an echo of steel!_" The Dervish lifted her sword and rings of pure sound enveloped the ball, now as large as a man's torso. It seemed to dance in the sound barrage, changing a brilliant white once more, then shot towards the people on the prison roof.

Noiselessly, Presto stepped forward and lifted his hat. He caught the ball in his weapon, surprisingly able to engulf the entire thing. Closing the rim of his hat, Presto waited a heartbeat then two. He finally opened the material once more and a deep purple orb shot back out as Presto mentally said, "_with the power to invoke._"

"_And bound in chains,_" Varla breathed, fumbling at her belt. She drew the unused wand, recalling Eric's words of that morning. Lifting the weapon, she aimed it at the glowing ball and shot out chains made of pure energy. They encircled the globe, changing it to a white-grey color. It began to fall slowly from the sky.

"Let free the jewel of the Elves," Hank called out. "Varla, my bow!"

The red-haired Illusionist looked surprised then lifted her hand and tossed the Energy Bow to the Ranger below.

Hank painfully reached up his left hand to grab the weapon, fumbling as his fingers reached for the familiar wood. Biting back a curse, the Ranger tried to grasp the weapon. His fingers brushed it and he moved quickly, his hand smacking it back in the other direction. The bow flipped behind his back, but Hank twisted and grabbed it right-handed, lifting it and pulling the string with his left. Golden energy hummed to life as he fired an arrow just below the falling globe.

Pain shot through the Ranger as everyone gasped. He had missed! Clutching his chest in torment, Hank dropped to his knees, bow clattering uselessly to the ground, landing near Diana's javelin. As blackness swam before his eyes, Hank lifted his free hand and willed the energy arrow to return. The arrow swung around and Hank passed out.

The arrow hit the chained globe in an explosion of golden light.

Everyone had to shut or shield their eyes, but when they looked again, the globe had broken free of its chains to fly high into the air. It glowed a vibrant electric blue now. As if it had a mind of its own, the globe shot straight towards the enemy nearby, the purity of the _Champions of Power_ being drawn inexorably to the corrupted evil of their greatest foe.

The enemy turned to face the oncoming energy globe. With a cry of rage, he lifted his hand, but it was too late. The ball engulfed the demi-lich and his mount. Blue light expanded and the sound of nerve shattering screams filled the air. An explosion of rainbow colors burst forth.

The Faerie Dragons, as a group, dove for the ground below, narrowly avoiding the energy burst above. In their ship, the Star Children rode out the energy wave, frantically working their controls and trying to adjust to the sudden influx of power to their vehicle. The ship shot off, straight into the stratosphere.

Tiamat maneuvered desperately, trying to avoid the energy waves. Her greater size limited her speed and she was surrounded, buffeted by light and sound and sheer pain. The five-headed dragon fell from the sky, Dekion slipping unconsciously from her back.

"No!" Diana screamed and headed blindly for the edge of the cliff. Bobby dropped his club and grabbed the women in a strong grip, holding her back from inadvertently stumbling to her own demise. "Dekion," Diana cried, fighting against the greater strength of the teen but failing to break free.

_Soft as the clouds  
Light as the air  
Gentle breezes  
Catch them with care_

The words were purely mental, but they were heard by all of the _Champions_ as pure instinct guided the Magician. Presto's hat glowed again, beginning white then lilac then the strong purple energy associated with the Magician. A burst of vibrant color swept from his hat and shot down towards the valley, slipping under the falling Celestial Knight and dragon as they struck the ground.

The hat stopped glowing and Presto slipped it onto his head for the first time in six years.

Bobby turned Diana towards the steps and let her go, but followed as she ran for them. He scooped up her javelin and Hank's bow as he passed then pelted down the wide steps after the anxious Acrobat. Timothy laid down his great sword to pick up Hank and turned to follow; down there was medical help. Raevonn took up the Knight's sword and started down the steps behind him while Avah darted back into the prison. Slowly, the other _Champions of Power_ made their way down from the rise to the valley below.

Continued in Chapter Thirty-Three: Where Do We Go from Here?


	33. Where Do We Go from Here?

Title: Where Do We Go from Here?

Author: Sam

Series: The Never-ending Story 33 / 33

Rating: PG-13: Injuries, sexual innuendoes, death, language

Setting: Autumn 1992: The Realm of Dungeons & Dragons

Characters & Ages: Too many people to count. The only non-adult is Bobby, who is two months from his eighteenth birthday. Everyone else, including non-humans, are considered adults

Summary: Picking up the pieces, trying to move on, the Young Ones still have a choice to make.

Note: Okay, my longest chapter yet. There is a place it could be broken in two, but I figured why bother since I'd already promised thirty-three chapters. Thus, you get this long read.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

By the time the _Champions_ reached the bottom step, the battle was over. Apparently the loss of their undead allies, coupled with the banishment of Master Eno, sapped the morale right out of the dark army. Orcs, goblins, lizardmen, and others were surrendering or fleeing. Triumph ran through the Armies of Light as they gathered and sorted their spoils of war-including prisoners.

Diana ignored the controlled chaos, running toward the immense figure of Tiamat, lying near the south road leading from the valley. "Dekion?" The Acrobat scanned the area for her longtime companion but didn't see him. Could he have survived such a blast from their combined weapons-especially without his armor? She cursed herself for not insisting he wear it that morning. "Dekion!"

One look at the mutilated dragon sent Diana's heart into overdrive. Clutching her thudding chest, she turned from the sight of the shredded wings, the limp heads. If Tiamat wasn't dead already, she soon would be. And if their weapons had done that to the ancient dragon queen-was there any hope for an un-armored man?

A grip on Diana's shoulder had her crying out wordlessly. She spun to face Varla, trying to shake off her hand.

The red-haired woman refused to be pushed away. "He lives," she said, her gentle voice strained. "No one I am touching has died-yet. He is with my parents." She pulled at Diana's arm. "Come, Diana. Mother says there isn't much time."

Without a word, the twenty-three year old Acrobat turned and sprinted for Ramuud's caravan. Her friends were right behind her, some moving slower than others.

Before anyone needed to ask Jaref stepped to Diana's side and took her arm, recognizing the wild look in her chocolate-colored eyes. "This way. He's awake." Jaref didn't sound pleased with that fact. He led Diana behind a large wagon to a larger tent that appeared to have been hastily thrown together. Several gypsies and caravaners moved among the wounded inside, tending injuries or solemnly carrying out the recently deceased. Ignoring the other victims, the woodcutter led Diana to a pallet near the back tent flap.

The Celestial Knight looked amazingly untouched, especially in view of Tiamat's appearance. He lay, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. Even when Diana slid to her knees next to his pallet he didn't react. The stillness scared the normally fearless Acrobat.

"Dekion?" She reached over for his hand but was stopped by Marinda.

"Don't touch him. It causes him great pain." Her voice sounded strained.

Varla moved to stand beside Diana, sinking to her knees. "I can speak for him," she offered then added, "he asks if we succeeded."

Folding her hands in her lap, Diana nodded, though he never turned his head to see. "Yes, Dekion. We won-Tiamat didn't make it." She found herself grieving the death of their one-time foe.

"_I owe her my life,_" his pain-filled voice filtered into Diana's mind through Varla's strained efforts, and Diana pushed back a sob. "_She rolled as the energy hit us._" Dekion blinked slowly and mentally cried out in tremendous pain before continuing, weaker, "_your young man is unhurt?_"

Diana shook her head. "_Kosar's fine_," she whispered mentally. "_But I don't think he's mine anymore. Dekion-_"

"_He is a fool to let you go, My Diana._" Dekion's eyes slid shut and his body shuddered then seemed to collapse a little.

"No!" Diana reached for him in desperation. "No, Dekion!"

Varla grabbed her while Marinda protectively shielded the man with her arms. "No, Diana," the Illusionist whispered into the other woman's mind. "He still lives." She turned Diana, grey eyes meeting brown and locking. "He is asleep. Mother says she gave him a draught for pain."

Hand shaking, Diana put her fingers to her forehead, not breaking the eye contact with Varla. "He's alive?" her voice broke.

"Yes," Varla switched to her verbal voice as well. "I'm keeping touch with him even now." The redhead moved her friend to a closer position, gesturing oddly with her fingers to her mother, who moved back a few steps in silent understanding. "Diana, sit with him. Let mother know when he wakes."

Thankfully, Diana nodded and watched Dekion intently, wishing she could give some of her health to the man. She hadn't even been injured in the battle, a circumstance which seemed ludicrous in view of what her friends, and especially Dekion, had gone through. She was unaware that Kosar stood only feet away, watching with sad blue eyes.

The Psionicist finally turned away from the sight of his first love at her vigil. He slowly walked from the tent and sank to the ground in the growing twilight of the setting suns. Putting his head in his hands, Kosar tried to puzzle through what had happened, what would happen. Someone sitting down beside him brought the twenty-five year old's attention back to the present.

Raevonn, still battle dirty but healthy thanks to the power of the net, studied him silently. She still held the net, as well as Sir Timothy's great sword, yet seemed unaware of the weapons. Finally, softly she spoke in her rich contralto. "You loved her once." It was not a question.

Kosar looked at the Elf and nodded. "I thought I still did." He sighed and ran a hand through his brown curls staring unseeing into the distance. "I mean, I should. I thought I always would. She risked everything, gave up everything, for me."

The Healer nodded and looked up at the skies, watching the first sun dip down below the horizon. "You still love her, Kosar, and she loves you."

He turned pained-filled blue eyes to her. "I can't go near her. At least not mentally. I'm a Psionicist; how can we live like that? And-" he gulped, forcing himself to admit the real problem, "she loves Dekion."

"And she will risk all she has, give all she has, for him, as well, Kosar." She turned violet-ringed blue eyes on the human beside her. "Diana is that kind of woman. She will always give everything for those she loves."

Shaking his head, Kosar sighed and broke eye contact, looking down at the cracked ground they sat on. "But-"

"But you cannot touch her as you wish," Raevonn supplied. "Then you are not meant to be together." Her voice sounded calm, her reasoning simple. Before he could protest, she laid a hand over his and he looked back at her. "Kosar, Diana was your first love. She is not your true love. You must release her. Do it for her. Do it for you."

Kosar shook his head, searching the Elf's face. "Why can't I touch her?" he temporized.

She smiled gently, a rare sight on the serious Elf's face. "Because of what you once had. I know your name, Star Gazer's Child." At his shock, she continued, "You and she were the saviors of Taroud. _Starfall_ embraced you both. _Starfall_ will separate your minds and hearts forever. Diana has seen this even if she does not yet realize it."

"Then I've lost her completely," Kosar moaned and put his head in his hands.

Raevonn placed a hand gently on his shoulder and leaned closer to him. "You never lost her and you never will, Kosar. You will not be lovers, but your friendship is stronger than most. Be content with that, Young Human."

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers once more. Somehow her words reached through his grief and confusion. He could sense the wisdom of years behind her voice, even though she looked no older than him. Softly, he asked, "will I find what she has now?" Then, with a groan, he added, "what if she loses him?"

The Healer shook her head and stood. "She will not. The _Champions of Power_ do not kill allies." She offered the net to the man and he slowly took it from her, eyes widening. Reaching down, she pulled him to his feet. "The net will not heal his wounds," she advised, sending a jolt of disappointment through him before continuing, "but I know of someone who can. A healer of great knowledge and skill."

She led him inside the tent and carefully approached one of the gypsy healers, bringing Kosar with her, passing the exhausted muted Magician.

"Ramuud?" Presto croaked painfully, his voice unintelligible. He slowly moved to the pallet next to Dekion's. On the fine sheets lay the caravan king, his thick bandages stained a sickly blend of red, rust, and yellow. Lorne's mother worked tirelessly laying fresh layer after layer over the cloths. As soon as she had another coating of herbal linens in place they would be drenched by the blood and other fluids welling from Ramuud's damaged torso and face.

Ayisha gently pushed past Presto and knelt on her father's other side, assisting the gypsy in her futile efforts. Without speaking, without even knowing one another's names, the two women worked steadily, trying to control the fluid loss.

"_I did that?_" Presto's mental question to Varla was more of a wail.

"What?" She looked up and over at the horrified man. Rising to her feet, easing past Diana, the Illusionist moved to the Magician's side and wrapped him in her arms. "Of course not, Presto. You were with me on the prison. You couldn't have done this."

Presto shook his head, conical hat wobbling but staying in place. He wrapped his arms around Varla and buried his face in her shoulder. On a sob, he told her about the ghast attack from the day before and how his hat had surged and flayed Ramuud. Presto's body shook as he cried in Varla's arms.

Curling his hands into ineffectual fists, Jaref watched his daughter comfort the man who could well be his son, her twin. He knew the younger man had lived in the caravan for the last six years, so the reactions made some sense. How to help Presto. . .Albert. . .Aelhb-Urt? Jaref shook his head and stepped around to Presto's side. Gently placing a hand on the Magician's shoulder, he cleared his throat and said, "if it's any comfort, the unicorn caught the wizard who did this."

"_Huh?_" Confused, Presto questioned Varla as he raised his head, golden eyes seeking the older man's. "_What?_"

"Father?" prompted Varla for her injured friend.

Jaref cleared his throat again and gestured to the figure on the pallet. "The wizard called Kelek. He hit Ramuud with some evil spell. Silvermane-the head unicorn-captured him after he killed Sir John. . ." Jaref bit his tongue at his slip, wincing at the sound of a young man's voice nearby.

"Father?"

Presto, Varla, and Jaref turned to see Timothy, still holding Hank's unconscious form. The Knight was pale, shaking. "You said Father-Sir John-is," he gulped and whispered, "dead?"

Bobby turned to the older teen and pulled him towards an empty pallet. "Put Hank there," he instructed, voice firm yet kind.

With a faint nod, Timothy complied and gently laid his friend on the pallet. He turned to Jaref, limping quickly to the older man's side. "Where is my father?" he asked softly.

"This way," Jaref sighed and led the Knight from the tent.

Kneeling down, ignoring his twinging foot, Bobby began to unwrap the bloody bandages from around Hank's torso. They were soaked and soon so were his hands.

As he reached for the next layer, a gentle hand covered his and his sister said, "let me, Bobby."

"I can do it, Sheila," he countered only to see her shake her head.

"Go to her, Bobby." Sheila looked towards the flap of the tent.

He followed her gaze, eyes fixing on Terri, hugging herself in misery, denim eyes huge with unshed tears.

"Freddie died today," Sheila added softly.

Without a word, Bobby stood and wiped his hands off on his trousers. He left his club, as well as Diana's javelin and Hank's bow, beside his sister, forgotten, and walked quickly among the pallets to Terri's side. He opened his arms. "Terri?"

She turned her eyes to him. Letting out a sob, Terri flung herself into Bobby's arms, her body shaking so much it seemed she would break.

He lifted his girlfriend into his arms as she buried her face in his neck. Turning, Bobby carried her from the chaos of the healing tent, seeking solitude in which to comfort the weeping eighteen year old. Blue eyes falling on a darkened tent, he strode quickly over to it and inside.

Sinking onto a bed of pillows, uncaring whose tent he'd taken over, Bobby gently rocked Terri, petting her long black hair. Unsure what he could say to her, the Barbarian continued to simply hold the Dreamer.

After a long while, Terri lifted her head, still trembling. Cupping Bobby's face in her hands, she kissed him, sheer desperation in the contact.

Bobby groaned softly, feeling her need and matching it. He returned her kisses, hands caressing down her back.

"Never leave me, Bobby," Terri breathed into his mouth.

He groaned again and echoed, "never." He sealed his mouth over hers in a lingering promise.

Neither saw the tent flap close and a frowning Lorne walk softly towards the large healer's tent and the surrounding howdahs and smaller tents. He wasn't bothered by what he'd accidentally seen; Bobby deserved some happiness. The Gypsy had only been looking for a place to rest away from the crowd. His head ached. Absently he headed for a darkened howdah, hoping he'd find the solitude he wanted. With a barely civil nod, he acknowledged the small figure that walked past him carrying something like a large rug, not recognizing her and not caring. The Gypsy slipped into the dark enclosure, sinking gratefully onto the cushions.

Avah nodded back at the man but continued towards the healing tent, moving slowly with her burden. She wanted to avoid entering the large tent with all the people in it, though she could see Sheila kneeling by the side of her Ranger. Hearing a commotion behind her, the Elf stepped out of the way, watching solemnly as a man carried his own burden into the tent.

As Sheila finished unwrapping Hank's bandaging, she sighed in relief. While the linens were drenched, his wounds had apparently stopped bleeding on their own. Thankfully, she dipped a clean cloth in a ready bowl of herbal water and moved to bathe his injuries.

A sudden shout drew her attention and she slid sideways to shield Hank with her body. A man stumbled into the tent carrying a young woman. She was badly hurt and needed immediate attention. Quickly looking around, Sheila realized that Hank was probably the least injured of the lot. She gestured with one hand. "Over here. He can be moved." A shadow fell over the pair and Sheila looked up into the blood-streaked face of the Cavalier.

"Eric-"

"I'll get him," he said and knelt, pulling Hank into his arms. "Uni, help Sheila. She probably can't see a thing."

Sheila blinked in surprise as a lithe red-headed Elf knelt next to her and slid an arm around her waist.

"Come on. Follow Airk."

"Uni?" Sheila was stunned. "What happened to you?" The Thief allowed herself to be helped up and guided towards a well-lit howdah nearby.

With an expressive roll of her maroon eyes, Uni replied, "The _Void_. Airk and I are still working on breaking this curse."

Once inside the spacious, if low-ceilinged, howdah Eric knelt and laid Hank on some pillows. He turned to Sheila. "Who hit you?" Eric's voice dropped to a menacing growl.

"Varen," Sheila replied and sank next to Hank, dipping the cloth again and moving to wash the Ranger's chest.

Eric blocked her efforts. "You first, Sheila. That needs cleaning." He took the cloth from her hands and began to wash her face, wincing every time she grimaced in pain.

As Eric loosened the clotted blood and dirt, Uni slipped out and quickly returned with fresh herbal water, linens, and ointment-and news from Marinda she thought better of imparting at that moment. She silently exchanged clean supplies for the dirty ones Eric handed her.

Sheila lay a steadying hand on Hank's abdomen, eyes closed as she tried not to move her face. Eric's ministrations hurt, but she knew he was right: they were necessary. As her friend loosened and carefully removed the clots sealing her eye shut, Sheila couldn't hold back a whimper of pain. Her hand clutched spastically at Hank's stomach.

A hand slid over Sheila's and squeezed gently.

Thankful for Uni's thoughtfulness, Sheila turned her hand over to grasp the one offered. The fingers laced with hers, offering quiet strength. Sheila whimpered again and the hand squeezed hers gently. Sheila opened her eyes to watch the intense look of concentration on Eric's tanned face.

Uni, on the other side of Eric, stood to replace the water and Sheila felt a jolt of surprise. She tore her face from Eric's grasp and looked down at Hank, who was finally awake, holding her hand and watching her with worried eyes. "Hank?" Sheila moved to lean over him but Eric yanked her back by the arm.

"Not done yet. He's next," Eric said gruffly.

Frustrated but compliant Sheila let Eric finish cleaning her face, continuing to keep her fingers twined with Hank's.

Outside, Uni stopped, dirty water sloshing in the bowl at her abrupt movement. Avah came towards her slowly, carrying the shaggy limp form of Freddie. Wincing, Uni gestured the Bard to follow her. She led the woman to a place among the stand of sparse trees, away from the tents and howdahs. Several bodies lay wrapped in canvas or linen and guarded by the unicorns and Faerie Dragons.

Tugging Avah away from a curling vine with palm-sized leaves, Uni guided her onto a broken path. "Careful," Uni's voice was soft. "That plant is called razor leaf and can take off a limb." She didn't ask if the Elf had already known.

Uni stepped up to the silver-maned, black-bodied unicorn leader. Reverently she said, "another fallen comrade, Lord Silvermane." Her eyes hungrily took in the solemn herd slowly pacing among the fallen. She wondered if she might ever return to her own kind.

The unicorn lord bowed his head then turned and led the burdened Elf to a spot close to Jaref. Sir Timothy knelt on the ground, mourning his father. Avah gently lowered the valiant dog's body to the place near Sir John, careful not to disturb the Knight in his grief.

Stepping back, Avah bowed to Silvermane and strode quickly back towards the well-lit camp, Uni following, still clutching the bowl of dirty water. The Bard would sing a lament for the fallen later; right now there was much to be done for the living. "Where do I find the most sorely injured?" she asked, no sign of her habitual good cheer in her low voice.

Turning, Uni gestured to the largest tent. "In there. Ramuud won't stop bleeding and Dekion is paralyzed." She looked calmly at the Elf. "Don't tell Diana," she added in low warning.

The Elf Bard nodded and pulled a set of pan pipes from her clothing. "I can soothe them even if I cannot heal them," she said and strode into the tent. Minutes passed and the sound of a lullaby drifted on the early evening air.

Moving steadily, following an unknown gypsy woman, Raevonn and Kosar entered the healer's tent to the sound of Avah's playing. They were still carrying sword and net. Hope surged in Uni's heart as she saw Kosar make his way towards Ramuud's prone body.

As he lay the net over the dying king, Uni sighed and turned away. She quickly refreshed the water and slipped back into the howdah, not remaining to see the results of Kosar's healing attempt. The healer gypsies had already speculated that the nature of Kelek's spell would prevent all but natural healing, and time would prevent even that.

Eric never asked what had taken so long. He finished cleaning Sheila's face then dropped the cloth in the dirty water. As Uni took it to replace it once again, the Cavalier began to smooth ointment over the gash. Sheila's eye was thankfully undamaged. He smiled at his old friend as he reached for the bandages.

A soft hand under his, offering the rolled linen, drew Eric's attention and he smiled gratefully at the former unicorn. "Thanks, Uni," he said softly, letting his eyes rove over the now-familiar Elfish features of his friend and longtime companion. "You weren't hurt?" he asked, his light baritone dropping low in belated concern. The look in his brown-black eyes was unfathomable and searching.

She smiled back and shook her head. "I'm fine, Airk." Uni slid her hand from Eric's and gestured with a flick of her head to Sheila, never removing her eyes from Eric's soul-deep gaze. "You should finish. I think she wants to care for Hank still."

"Right," Eric chuckled and dragged his eyes from Uni's face. He turned back to Sheila and Hank. Both were watching him with amazement in their eyes. "What?" he asked, frowning.

"That's Uni?" asked Hank, voice laced with exhaustion and wonder, verbalizing the first thing he could think of.

Sheila didn't comment, her own thoughts leaning more to surprise at how tenderly Eric had interacted with the young redhead. Worrying, Sheila wondered if her friend had lost his heart to someone who couldn't keep it. After all, as Uni said, they were looking for a cure for her curse. Once that was done she'd be a unicorn once more. Sheila didn't think Eric could handle being in love with a horse, no matter how beautiful and magical. It wouldn't be fair to him or to Uni, who deserved to find love with her own kind.

Eric's voice cut through Sheila's dark musings, answering Hank in light and amused tones. "Yup. Ol' DM turned her into an Elf, and we've been touring this great Realm ever since, taking in all the best tourist spots."

Hank made a soft noise in his throat. "I hope you haven't had to work too hard keeping this one out of trouble," he said with a tired smile.

"Nah," Eric replied. "She's a quick learner and. . ."

"I was talking to Uni," Hank cut him off, and the four laughed-even Sheila.

Handing over the cleaning and bandaging supplies, Eric stood, hunched due to the low howdah ceiling. "Well, you can finish with Mr. Funny, Sheila. I'm gonna take Uni off to see if I can help someone who's _really_ hurt." With that, the Cavalier threw them a jaunty half-salute and turned, exiting the howdah.

Uni laughed and followed on his heels.

"Who'd have thought Eric would grow up?" Hank asked softly.

Sheila turned surprised eyes on the Ranger only to smile back when she saw he was teasing. She dipped the cloth into the fresh herbal water and began to bathe the talon rake marks across Hank's chest. Her smile slipped and she said, worried, "I wonder what's going to happen to them."

Hank didn't pretend not to understand. He had recognized the long look that had passed between Eric and Uni. "I don't know. I'm not sure a human and a unicorn are an accepted match even in the Realm." He sighed then winced as the cloth struck a particularly deep gash.

Flushing, Sheila bit her lip. "Sorry," she said then continued, "and what if we find a way home?"

Light blue eyes locked with teal and Hank frowned again. Slowly he covered Sheila's hand, stopping it on his chest. Watching her intently, he sat up until they were mere inches apart. Lifting his other hand, he stroked her undamaged cheek, trembling at exposing his own deeply held feelings after so long. In a soft voice, he asked, "do we even want to go home?"

Sheila drew in a shaky breath, ignoring the all-important question in favor of the even more important revelation in Hank's gentle eyes. She leaned forward, closing the small space between them, and slanted her head to cover his mouth with hers, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, the other still trapped between his hand and his heart.

Outside, Eric stopped before entering the large healer's tent, watching the third sun dipping beyond the western horizon. As soon as the fourth sun finished its descent this part of the Realm would be in full night. And another long day would end.

He stretched his aching back, reaching a hand up to absently scratch at a deep itch on his forehead. He froze as soon as his fingers touched the smeared dried blood there. "Yeah, forgot that '_death breath_' slapped me around," he murmured, dropping his hand.

"Then it is your turn now, Airk," Uni spoke from behind him.

He turned with a smile and nodded. "Right. Finally _me_." He thrust his thumb at his armored chest and grinned arrogantly. "And it's about time, Uni. I've been more than patient playing Florence Nightingale for the masses."

Amused at the habitual arrogant humor, Uni merely took Eric's hand and pulled him to another howdah. "Tell me, Big Warrior," she laughed as she pulled him into the confines and sank onto the pillows, "who is Flor-ence-night-in-gale and why are you pretending to be him?" She began to unbuckle Eric's golden breastplate.

With a sigh of gratitude, Eric slid out of his armored shoes and wiggled his toes. "She, not he," the Cavalier corrected and when Uni shot him a puzzled look, he added, "Florence Nightingale was a nurse in a big war back on Earth. Lots of the soldiers she took care of fell in love with her. It's called the '_Nightingale Effect_'." He slid out of first one silver leg guard then the other. It was surprising what one remembered after three attempts at Freshman History.

"Oh my," Uni laughed, a soft braying noise. "Let's hope Sheila doesn't fall under _that_ spell. I think Hank would try to kill you."

Eric blinked dark brown eyes in confusion then her meaning sank in and he joined her laughter. "Not a problem. If it does happen, I'll just run away like normal."

Uni snorted. "Like you run away anymore, Airk." She removed the breast plate and helped him pull the sapphire-colored chainmail over his head, taking the tunic with it, all the while careful of his head injury. Smiling, Uni dipped the cloth in the bowl of herbal water and began to wash the gash across his forehead.

With a soft chuckle, Eric brought up a hand to knead his opposite shoulder. A few minutes of companionable silence passed and he switched hands and shoulders. Several more long moments elapsed before he dropped both hands into his lap and closed his eyes.

Gently, Uni finished cleaning his wound and slid the cloth into the water. She carefully coated the freshly bleeding gash with the ointment the gypsies had provided then began to bandage Eric's head in soft linen. Several more long minutes ticked by before she sat back on her heels, finished.

"Umm," Eric murmured, his headache finally completely gone, no trace of the nausea or dizziness that had plagued him for years. He opened his eyes and smiled down at his companion. "Thanks, Uni."

She lifted maroon eyes, her look shifting to one of intensity as she met his brown-black gaze. His dark eyes locked with hers and she drew a long, deep breath. Slowly, she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

He brought his hands up to cup her face, groaning softly against her mouth. When she moved her kiss to his neck, shock coursed through Eric chased by emotions he didn't want to explore. Dropping his hands from her face, he grasped Uni's arms in firm, yet gentle hands, pushing her back slightly. "Uh. . ." he stammered, suddenly unsure what was happening. "Uni?"

"Yes, Airk?" she breathed softly.

Eric swallowed, fighting with himself and everything he'd ever known. Finally he groaned and set her back away from him completely.

"Time for bed," he said in a rush. Eric stood quickly and headed for the howdah opening, stumbling slightly over his discarded armor but ignoring it. "You sleep here," he laughed, sounding nervous. "I'll go bunk with-uh-Presto or something."

And he slipped out the door, leaving a bewildered Uni behind.

Striding quickly, ignoring the cold air against his naked torso, Eric made his way to the biggest collection of people he could: the healer's tent. He didn't want to think-didn't want to feel-he wanted to get busy and ignore the whirling confusion in his mind and heart. '_She's a unicorn, stupid,_' he reminded himself silently. '_How could you be so dumb?_' No answers came to the beleaguered Cavalier and he strode into the bustle of the over-busy tent.

Stopping next to Presto and Varla, he ran both hands down his trousers. Forcing cheerfulness into his tone, Eric asked, "so, what can I do?"

The pair turned to him and he backed up a step in shock. Presto looked like he'd aged in the last hours. "Whoa-uh, Presto, buddy?" He hadn't seen his best friend in six years, but Eric knew something was very wrong. Glancing to the side, he thought he knew what it was. Eric lay a supportive hand on Presto's shoulder, pushing all thoughts of his personal problems aside. "Hey, Ramuud'll be okay, Presto. He's a strong guy."

Presto nodded, unable to say anything. He turned golden eyes back on the man who'd cared for him and taught him the last few years. He could see Raevonn arguing with a gypsy man right next to the desert king's bed. Apparently, they were in a heavy discussion about something. But what worried the Magician more was the sight of Kosar kneeling next to Lorne's mother, net glowing faintly over Ramuud's inert figure. The Psionicist had been attempting to heal Ramuud for half an hour and still the wounds were open.

Answering for the silent man, Varla smiled wanly at Eric. "Yes, he's very strong." She felt her words were inadequate, but she didn't know what else to say so said nothing. Instead, she gave Presto a gentle hug which he returned.

The trio watched helplessly as the life-saving efforts continued. Finally, Raevonn whirled away from the gypsy she'd been arguing with and knelt next to Ayisha who absently nodded once to her. The gypsy man protested but Raevonn ignored him, lifting her hands over Ramuud. Lorne's mother looked troubled at the Elf's intervention.

"I do not see what more can be done," she temporized in a worried voice, eying the short-haired Elf.

Raevonn's face flushed in anger at the rebuke. She glared at the human gypsy then ignored her, closing her eyes and beginning to murmur. Damn the age-old distrust between traveling humans and Elves!

As the gypsy began to protest again, Ayisha looked up. "Let her try," she commanded in her throaty whisper. "We have failed so far. Let her try."

Lorne's mother fell silent, frowning but respecting the wishes of her patient's daughter.

A deep forest green glow began in Raevonn's hands. It slowly spread over the caravan leader's chest up his neck and over his head. As the Healer continued her low murmuring, the glow covered his hips, legs, and finally his feet. At last, Ramuud's entire body was lit with a deep green light. The Elf's face twisted in her concentration, appearing fierce and almost malignant, drawing warding signs from several gypsy witnesses.

Ayisha never moved from her father's side, intently watching the woman work her spell. She had heard of the animosity between the woodland-dwelling Elfish folk and the caravaners and gypsies across the Realm. The people of Kadeesh were some of the few traveling folk that did not inherently distrust the elusive demi-humans. Ramuud had made any and all wayfarers welcome in his camp and his kingdom; by his example, the people of Kadeesh also welcomed the long-lived Elves.

What seemed like hours passed, though Ayisha later assumed it was mere minutes, before Raevonn lowered her hands, trembling in exhaustion. Sitting back on her heels, the Healer opened tired eyes and looked directly at the woman beside her. "He will live if I can tend him until help arrives."

"Help?" Ayisha asked.

Nodding, Raevonn looked over the small crowd of watching gypsies and caravaners who had stopped to witness her attempt. Her eyes met Kosar's and held as she said, "help must be sent for. This spell against him prevents magical healing." She looked at Ayisha once more. "I can keep replacing what he loses, but only if I tend him daily. Someone else must travel to the Singing Forest and ask Heart's Unity to come back and help him." Glancing over at the other sorely wounded man on the pallet beside Ramuud's, Raevonn added, "Heart's Unity might also be able to help the Celestial Knight."

"I'll go."

The group looked at Diana. She lifted her head, eyes flashing determined fire. In a somber voice, she repeated, "I'll go. I'll bring back this healer from the Singing Forest."

"Do not be hasty, Acrobat," Dungeon Master's weary yet friendly voice came to them from the rear tent flap. He walked in, moving slower than any had seen him move thus far. With him walked Zandora, Kareena, and Venger. The quartet that had erected and held the protective barrier over the war zone stopped beside the two grievously injured men. Dungeon Master laid a hand on Diana's head, smiling gently. "The morning is time enough for any decisions on your path. Go rest, Acrobat." He turned to look around at the other _Champions of Power_, adding, "Cavalier, Magician, Illusionist, Dervish, Psionicist. Rest and let your allies help these brave men. No further harm will befall them this night." As if to prove his point, Dungeon Master settled himself on a cushion between Ramuud and Dekion.

"But Dungeon Master," Diana began.

Venger cut her off. "Whether you stay here, go to the Singing Forest, or return to your world, you will need rest. My father is correct. You should sleep while we stand vigil. No one will be harmed further tonight. You have the word of the Dungeon Master." The former arch-mage moved among the pallets, smiling reassuringly down at patients and caregivers alike.

As if taking their cue from the two men, Zandora and Kareena also moved off to walk among the patients.

Dungeon Master lifted a hand to silence any further comments from his former pupil. "Go, Diana. Sleep and regain your strength. You do him no service exhausted beyond endurance."

Closing her mouth, finally seeing the wisdom in the mage's words, Diana uncurled herself with a wince. Her muscles protested the ending of the long held position, but she ignored the twinges and small aches. Giving one last look to the Celestial Knight, the Acrobat turned and left the tent.

She was followed by the remaining _Champions of Power_.

Outside in the chilly air, Diana ran both hands over her face as she arched her back to work out lingering soreness. "Go home?" She dropped her hands from her face and turned to the others. "Is Venger nuts? How can I go home now? Dekion needs me."

Eric nodded and wrapped an arm around his friend. "I have a feeling that most of us are going to choose to stay, at least for a little while." He glanced at Presto who looked torn between thankfulness for the small reprieve and worry for his mentor. "Hey, Presto, they said he'd be okay. Let's get that rest, right?"

Presto turned his golden gaze on Eric and slowly sighed, his eyes beseeching his friend for something he couldn't say out loud.

Apparently, Eric understood because he reached over and warmly squeezed the Magician's shoulder. "He's stopped bleeding, Presto. That Elf knows her stuff. And if she can do that, I trust her word that she knows someone who can finish healing him." He glanced at Diana in his arm and added, "heal them both." He hugged the Acrobat again and turned her towards a larger tent set aside for the leaders to rest in. "Let's go take over Jaref's tent and get that sleep, okay?"

A soft laugh brought a grin to Eric's face and he returned Varla's smile. She hugged Presto quickly then pushed him to Ayisha. "I have a feeling, Eric, that you are purposely trying to start a fight with Father." She gently pushed Kosar towards Eric and Diana, offering another smile at Presto and Ayisha. "I agree though. Let's take Father's tent. It will be the most spacious and comfortable."

The others didn't protest and Diana, Eric, and Kosar headed in the indicated direction. As Varla moved to follow Diana, she stopped and turned with a soft frown. Her father moved slowly, next to a grief-hunched figure, from the sparse trees at the edge of camp. The Illusionist turned her steps in that direction. When she reached the pair, she softly asked, "Father?"

Jaref shook his head and glanced at Timothy. He looked back to his daughter and frowned fiercely. There was nothing to say to a man who'd lost his father.

Varla nodded her understanding and stepped to Timothy's side. Slipping her arm through his, she offered him a light squeeze of reassurance. "Come, Timothy." Her voice was gentle as she spoke to the young Knight. "Let's get some rest." Giving her father a look, Varla led her friend towards the tent where the others had gone.

The woodcutter felt old as he watched his daughter. She was a woman grown. Her actions displayed that more than anything she might have said. Varla had shouldered much this day, and Jaref had a feeling the young woman would shoulder even more before either of them saw home again. With a slow stride, he turned and made his way back to the healer's tent and his wife.

Ayisha watched her friends depart. She turned to Presto and held out a hand. "Come, Albert," her voice was hoarse from repressed emotion and lack of water. "I have some of the throat tonic in my belongings. If my tent has been set up, I can ease your pain."

Feeling relief wash over his aching body, Presto took Ayisha's hand and followed. As they wended their way among the tents and howdahs, looking for the familiar bright turquoise that denoted Ayisha's personal living quarters, his thoughts went back to the healing tent. That Elf knew a healer and Dungeon Master hadn't denied her information. And the old mage had even offered to watch the injured as he allowed everyone to rest. The real question was: how could anyone sleep while so keyed up?

The pair finally found Ayisha's tent and walked into the dark confines. Moving away from her best friend, Ayisha lit an old lamp and set it on the brightly painted wooden table once owned by her long deceased mother. Most of what she owned had belonged to her father's beloved wife.

Ayisha turned a smile on Presto then stepped to an ornately carved ivory cabinet. Opening it, she reached up and pulled out a crystal decanter full of transparent liquid with mixed herbs floating through it. The desert princess turned and moved to Presto's side, offering the stoppered flask. "Here, My Brother, drink this."

With a soft frown Presto gestured to the white and red pewter water pitcher by the low bed. He accepted the flask but again pointed at the pitcher and then her.

Understanding dawned and Ayisha smiled. "Yes, I will drink as well," she affirmed. Gracefully, she made her way to the large cushioned pallet and sank down, retrieving a tin cup and filling it with the lukewarm water. "Sit with me, Albert," she instructed hoarsely then sipped.

Taking a sip of his own flask, Presto quickly joined her on the pallet, groaning at both the soft cushions under his battle-weary body and the soothing liquid easing the dryness of his tortured throat. With a sigh, he took another sip and finally allowed himself to relax.

"We have known each other a long time, Albert."

Ayisha's soft voice drew his attention and he absently pushed his glasses higher on his nose. He nodded and she smiled. "And there has always been honesty between you and I."

He nodded again, though it hadn't been a question. He sipped his tonic as he watched her smooth out her colorful skirts, eyes lowered as she bit her lip in concentration.

After a long moment she looked up and sighed. "Do you think father will die?"

Shock then remorse shot through the Magician and he closed his eyes against the painful suggestion. Lifting a trembling hand, Presto removed his glasses and pressed his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. At the feel of her hand on his knee, Presto wiped the back of his hand across his eyes then replaced his glasses. Golden eyes met brown and neither moved for some time. Presto dropped his eyes first and shrugged, the admission hurting more than he thought possible. How he wished he could talk to her, explain what he thought-felt.

She surprised him when she nodded slowly. "I too am not sure he will live, Albert." Her words were filled with new pain.

Presto slid his arms around her and hugged her to him, offering what strength he could.

Ayisha leaned against him for long silent minutes, both shaking in their shared worry. Slowly, the woman pulled back enough to look into the man's eyes. "Though I will fight for his living, I must prepare for his dying." Her voice caught, but she denied herself the release, shaking her head ruthlessly, dark hair, long fallen from her braids, swishing around her slender body. "I will need to lead the Kadeesh people until his return-if he returns."

Presto pulled her down again, tucking her head under his chin and enveloping her in his arms. He gently rocked her as he petted her back, fingers tangling occasionally in her thick dark hair.

Carefully, Ayisha ran a hand down his chest as he comforted her. She was not crying yet, though by Presto's actions it was obvious he thought she was. Rather, as her eyes moved restlessly, unseeing, around the familiar possessions in her tent, the princess's mind was planning what needed to be done and how. After long quiet minutes, she broke the comforting embrace to sit back and look at the young man she'd loved for many years. She had often wondered if he loved her in return. It was time to find out.

"Albert," Ayisha said, voice husky with emotion.

He nodded in response, sipping at his tonic and waiting. His eyes roved over her face, looking for some sign of her thoughts, wondering how he could advise her without a voice of his own.

Her tone strengthening, Ayisha said, "Albert, will you be my husband?" Her hand rested on his chest.

He didn't notice. Rather, Presto nearly dropped the flask of soothing tonic. His gold eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his face paled. '_Don't pass out_!' he instructed himself as he tried to comprehend Ayisha's unexpected proposal.

Unlike other women, she didn't feel the need to fill the building silence or rush into a defensive explanation. She merely sat, one hand still on his chest, and watched him with solemn brown eyes. Ayisha patiently granted Presto the time to sort his thoughts and feelings.

How well she understood him.

It was that understanding which decided the man. Taking a long drink of the cool liquid, never moving his gaze from hers, Presto stoppered the flask with one hand. He set it on the floor without looking. Gently, he stroked one hand down her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her, wordlessly, his heart in the joining of their lips.

xxx

Bobby slipped out into the morning sunshine, leaving Terri sleeping amongst the cushions and silks of the commandeered tent. Stretching, the Barbarian made his way towards the aroma of roasting meat and frying onions and potatoes.

By a large campfire sat a dark-haired figure with a crisp white bandage around his head, back to Bobby. He wore plain trousers and a loose tunic of tanned leather, his feet bare in the autumn warmth. Repeatedly the seated man thrust a thick branch into the embers of the campfire, watching as bright orange and yellow sparks flew into the air to compete with the sun's brilliance before once more falling into the burning logs.

Grinning, Bobby walked up behind the older man and flicked the back of his neck with a snap of his fingers. "Hey, Lorne."

Eric turned and glared at the blond teen, making Bobby jump.

"Heck, Eric, with that bandage you almost look like you could be Lorne's twin!"

The Cavalier growled out, "welcome home, Bobby. Screw you." He'd had a terrible, sleepless night, despite trying to follow Dungeon Master's advice.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow at Eric and slid to the ground next to him. "Home, Eric?"

The Cavalier shot him another annoyed look and grumbled, "never mind."

Unsure what was bothering his friend, Bobby tried for a change of subject. He gestured around the camp, which was peaceful in the early morning light. "So, I guess the seven years bad luck finally wore off."

Not exactly stupid, Eric never-the-less had not been the quickest at intelligence riddles. With another glare, the uncomprehending man asked shortly, "what?"

"You know," replied the blond, laughing, "for busting Queen Tasmira's mirror. Seven years bad luck and all. But it should be gone now."

Eric stared at the teen, frowning. Finally, as if talking to a dimwit, he said, "_seven_ years-dolt-I've got one more to go." He probed the fire and watched the embers jump, adding, "thanks for the reminder, Squirt."

"Who you calling '_squirt_'?" Bobby automatically shot back, clenching his fists. Slowly, he willed himself to patience, taking a couple of deep breaths to cool his quick temper. He hadn't seen the guy in years; he didn't want their reunion to start with a fight. "It's been nine years, Eric," he said when he was sure he was under control.

Surprise flashed over Eric's tanned face and he turned to study Bobby fully. "Nine years? Nine years passed back home?" He restlessly struck the embers again but kept his eyes on Bobby. "Here it's been only six, Bobby." He finally looked away from the Barbarian, glancing briefly behind the teen then staring morosely at the fire. "Six years of-never mind," he repeated.

"You didn't get any sleep, did you, Eric?" Bobby frowned softly, worried for his tired friend. Now that he looked, Bobby could see bruising under Eric's dark eyes from his restless night. With a sigh, Bobby searched his mind for some way to break the barrier between them. His first two jokes had fallen flat, but maybe the third time would be the charm. Bobby forced a grin and turned to the other man, asking, "so, who kept you up all night, Cavalier?"

Eric's head shot up as if pulled on a taut string. He threw a troubled glance at Bobby then sighed and gestured behind the teen with one hand. In a voice of weariness, he looked back at the fire and claimed, "her."

Bobby whirled around to see a lithe, graceful red-haired Elf approaching. She wore white suede which contoured to her body as she moved. Her unbound hair fell sleekly almost to her knees and caressed her back and buttocks with every step. She smiled shyly, her maroon eyes huge in her pale face, reminiscent of a Japanese anime, seeming to pierce right to his core.

Bobby whistled low, not taking his eyes off the glorious sight. "Damn, Eric, she's hot!" He swallowed. "That's one beautiful woman."

His words seemed to anger the other man because Eric thrust his stick fully into the fire and turned a furious glare on Bobby. "She's not just any woman!" His voice vibrated with suppressed emotion.

Bobby lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, I have no intention of moving in on your girlfriend, Eric." He hoped to sooth the strange mix of anger and depression in the Cavalier.

Eric shook his head. He ground out, "she is _not_ my girlfriend-"

"Then who is she?" Bobby asked, bewildered.

"Hi, Bobby," the redhead smiled softly as she stopped on Eric's other side. She sank to the ground beside him, folding her long legs, arms curling around bent knees. Her gaze was intense.

"Bobby the Barbarian" Eric said in a deadpan tone of voice, "meet Uni, the former unicorn."

His jaw dropped. Nothing came to mind as Bobby took in the sight of the Elf. She couldn't be _his_ Uni-his pet unicorn. It wasn't possible. Defensively, Bobby whispered, "you have got to be kidding-"

"I'm afraid not, Bobby."

Terri's soft words drew the attention of all three. She eased herself to the hard ground with a small wince, ending in a grimace. "I traveled with them from the _Dragons' Graveyard_. She _is_ Uni, transformed by some wacky spell."

Momentarily distracted, Bobby gently asked, "you okay, Terr?"

She nodded and offered a twisted smile. "Just stiff-a bit-sore. I'll be fine." Looking over at Uni then to Eric, Terri's face flushed lightly and she asked, "how's the head, Eric?"

Seizing on the topic of himself, as he always did when he felt vulnerable, Eric tried for lightness. "It'll take more than a guy with bad breath and a dire need of a mani-pedi to take this old Cavalier down."

Terri smiled appreciatively. "Yeah. Thought as much." She hesitated then reached out and took Bobby's hand, an almost shy smile on her face.

"So, is this a private party or can the riff-raff seek sustenance among the worthies?" Lorne flopped down across the fire from the foursome, groaning at his injudicious movement as he put a hand to his bandaged head.

"I would hope I'm not considered riff-raff," Timothy's sad voice spoke up. The tired Knight sank to the ground, offering the barest hint of a smile to those gathered, though none of them recognized him.

Varla slipped to the ground beside Timothy, offering a more generous smile to her friends. She turned that smile up to Hank and Sheila, who approached slowly, hand in hand. "Mother says both Dekion and Ramuud are sleeping well. Raevonn sits with them as does Zandora?" The name was a question; Varla had never met the elderly mage.

"Thank goodness," Diana's tired voice came from behind Bobby and the group watched as she strode quickly to the fire, sitting on Terri's other side.

Hank and Sheila joined them just as Presto and Ayisha showed up. Ayisha quickly sat next to Sheila and pulled her into a warm hug. "I am happy to see you again, My Sister!"

The Thief returned her hug as if the years separating them had never happened.

Presto sank down next to Eric, offering his old friend a smile, still unable to talk.

Looking over to the other side of the fire, Uni smiled at the hesitant figure of Kosar. She lifted a hand to signal him. "Kosar? Come join us." The former unicorn patted the ground.

With a small nod and a brief glance at Diana, Kosar sat next to Lorne, fingering the amulet he still wore. The amount of injured minds calling out in pain was overwhelming, and he was glad for its protection.

Before anything more could be said by the reunited friends, Sheila gasped and stared past Lorne. She stood slowly as the others turned.

Approaching softly on bare feet was a petite Elfish woman with luxurious silver curls and laughing sea-green eyes. Dressed in bright silks, she practically danced as she moved towards them. Avah nodded upon seeing Shiela's smile of approval for her much improved appearance. "Good morning-" the Elf suddenly tripped over a crack in the broken ground, tumbling head over heels into a rain puddle left over from the Faerie Dragon bombardments. She sat up, mud dripping down her hair and face and coating her fine borrowed clothes. With a wail, the small Elf slammed both fists against the ground, splashing herself with more mud. "Damn it! I'm sick of being dirty!"

"Oh, but you look so good in earth tones," quipped Lorne without forethought. As she turned wide eyes to him, frowning, he added, "and they say it's good for the skin."

Sheila hissed angrily at the Gypsy, "Lorne! Don't be insensitive." She began to move around the fire to help her friend.

Avah continued to study Lorne with a puzzled frown. Finally, she smiled brightly. "You really think I'm pretty?"

Everyone was stunned and Sheila hesitated. Lorne merely laughed and rose to his feet. He hefted the woman from the mud and looked her up and down. Finally, with a nod, he gallantly offered her his arm. "Yeah, you do brown real well."

With a giggle, Avah slid her muddy hand onto the human man's arm and let him guide her back to the sleeping tents in search of a warm bath and fresh clothing.

The others looked at one another and Kosar chuckled, slowly joined by the others. The Psionicist asked, "when did he become such a smooth talker?"

Eric and Bobby replied in unison, "beats me," then looked at one another in mild surprise.

Diana broke in with a determinedly cheerful voice. "So, we gonna eat this food or let it burn?"

Guiltily, Eric jumped. He had volunteered to cook the meal, relieving Lorne's mother to once more tend the injured. Rubbing his hands, Eric said, "well, let's eat then." He began to hand around tin plates as the others pulled over and passed around the wonderful smelling breakfast.

Uni rose to pour water for each diner, ending in the empty spot left by Lorne's departure. She smiled at Kosar beside her and sat next to him. As the group ate no one spoke about the past-yet. They were too busy trying to overcome their individual feelings of surprise at the many changes they could see in each other. Bobby had trouble keeping his eyes off Uni, disturbed by the idea that this was the baby unicorn from so many years ago.

The silent meal was interrupted by a deep voice. "Greetings, Young Ones."

Everyone turned to look up at Venger. Even as the oldest, Hank felt he could hardly cavil at Venger's term: to a being at least two thousand years old, they certainly would be young. "Come to eat, Venger?" Hank offered, though he suspected it wasn't the fried onions and potatoes that had drawn the former dark lord. He was right.

"No. I came to offer you a choice." The tall mage remained standing, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes.

"What choice?" Diana frowned up at him, putting down her fork. "I need to get to the Singing Forest and get that cure from Heart's Unity."

Terri's fork dropped followed by her plate as her eyes and pendant lit up with a fierce golden glow. She never heard the shock of the others or felt Bobby's hands on her arms. Instead, she found herself somewhere far away from the battle ground and breakfast fire:

_Standing in a copse of trees, the unicorn bobbed its head, black mane lifted by the warm summer breeze. Its golden-flecked cream-colored body was encased in silver and blue barding, reflecting the sunlight as it watched the man before it with wary dark brown eyes. Standing still, not saying a word, the black-haired man nervously fingered the straps of a golden shield he held._

With a gasp, Terri stiffened at the sudden feel of arms around her. Her eyes dimmed back to their normal denim blue and she looked wildly around.

"See, she's coming out of it. I told you she's fine," Eric's sure voice broke through the haze left by her vision. She looked up at the Cavalier standing just behind Bobby-who held her securely in his arms. With a cry, she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend and buried her pale face in his neck, trembling.

"Damn," Eric swore softly, moving to kneel by Bobby, No one stopped him as he'd already assured them he'd seen Terri do this before. Reaching over, Eric offered Bobby his own cup of cold water. "Not as bad as ol' freaky fangs, is it?" He asked the shaken young woman.

Bobby thankfully took the cup. "Hey, Terr, drink this," he coaxed.

She slowly lifted her head, surprising everyone with a sunny smile. "Oh, Bobby, it was beautiful!"

"Hunh?" Used to Terri's visions being about attacks or destruction, it took a moment for the Barbarian to register that Terri was indeed smiling.

"I'm sorry to scare everyone," she looked around. "It was the shock of having another one. But it was beautiful!" She looked up at Bobby then up at Eric. "You were talking to a golden unicorn with a long black mane and tail." She frowned suddenly. Something wasn't right and Terri studied Eric's borrowed clothing. "You weren't in your armor." She looked at the others and continued, "his back was to me, but he held his shield and," she offered another grin at last, "he was so nervous he was playing with the straps."

Eric chuckled nervously. "Great. She has a vision of me stuttering at some unicorn. Probably Uni's mom. Was I explaining how I let DM turn her into an Elf?"

Venger interrupted. "What you saw, Dreamer, is one possible future. Until you control your powers you cannot be certain which future you will see. Your vision may or may not come to pass."

Terri frowned up at the mage but didn't say anything.

Standing, Diana bounced slightly on the balls of her bare feet. "Not to interrupt, much," she glanced at Terri then back to Venger, "but you said we had a choice. For me, there's only one choice. What I want to know is how to find Heart's Unity." Her strong hands planted on her hips and she stopped moving restlessly, looking fierce and implacable.

The tall mage shook his head. "I must speak to the seven alone," he intoned, his gaze meeting the chosen seven he referred to. Wordlessly, Timothy, Varla, Kosar, Ayisha, and Uni moved away from the fire, worry in every look and movement. Venger nodded once then turned back to the smaller group-those who had traveled from Earth to the Realm. "First you must hear my offers then I will tell you what you wish to know."

Diana frowned. "I'm listening, Venger," she said slowly, sinking to the ground but keeping her body stiff. The others joined her by the fire.

Venger also sat on the hard-packed ground, though he sat across the blazing logs from the seven friends. He picked up a stick and absently stirred the embers. The sight of their once greatest foe toying with a branch like a nervous Boy Scout was so unlike their own images of Venger that they all listened intently to his words.

"Not all of you need go on this mission. None of you need to. Others may go," he began softly, voice clear for all its low tone. "Only one need journey if he is swift and strong. The others may remain here to stand vigil or leave to help rebuild again or-" he lifted his eyes, stick moving lazily in the flickering yellow and orange flames, occasionally shooting up a red or violet spark. "Or you can go home."

"Home?" Sheila asked, voice catching.

Diana frowned, ready to deny that option completely.

Venger lifted a hand, his other still stirring the embers. "If you choose the quest, you will spend perhaps a year or more in your search before you are able to return to those you seek to help." His eyes met and held Diana's but his voice remained calm. "If you stay, you will face heartache for every day you watch them suffer." He looked down at the fire. Gently, Venger poked the embers, sending an array of red and violet sparks towards the sky. He once more began to stir. "The third choice you were offered before. Stay and rebuild the Realm. Defend it against its enemies." Finally, he turned his gaze on each of those present, locking eyes with one after another as he moved his gaze around the group of seven. "The last choice I offer freely. You may go home and resume your lives. Rest. Refresh. No worry over war or famine. Normal lives in a home you love with family and friends you have missed."

Even Diana had fallen still, despite her urgency of moments ago. Finally, the Acrobat asked, "how can you offer home when all we'll think about is what-who-we leave here?" She shifted, frowning. "We're needed here. I'm," she thrust her finger against her chest, "needed here."

With a slow nod, Venger looked directly at the young woman. "Others have taken up _Weapons of Power_. Others can do what you intend to do." He stirred and sighed. "If you choose to go home, your minds will be at peace. You will not remember this dark place, these dark times. It will be as one long dream you will finally awaken from."

"Wait a minute, Venger," Bobby interrupted, his voice dazed and slow. "Just how do you mean to do that? And what time will you be sending us back to? 1992 or 1983?" He ran a hand roughly down his leg. He must be more tired than he thought; he was having trouble focusing.

Venger nodded slowly and said, "in all probability it will be 1992 as that is the current year."

Bobby snorted, amusement lacing lazily through him. "Well then that's a bit of a problem. Eric's dead in 1992."

"What?" the others questioned as one, though all sounded mildly disinterested, tired and distracted.

Eric snorted, unsurprised and uncaring. "The bastard always did want Mom's money."

Putting a hand to her head, Sheila murmured, "I don't understand." She turned dazed teal eyes to Eric. "You sound like you expected this. How can you be dead there but still alive here?"

"Easy," Bobby shrugged. "In 1989, Eric's dad held a funeral for Eric. Last year, he had Eric claimed legally dead."

"Never mind," Eric gestured lazily. "I took care of it," he said enigmatically. He smiled at his friends then turned to Venger, who sat silently as they talked, watching the embers dance red and violet under his stick. "So, you can send us home. No riddles. No puzzles. No catch?" He sounded vaguely interested.

Venger nodded, looking at the dazed expressions on the exhausted faces of the humans before him. "Yes. No riddles or puzzles or quests. I will send you home and you will forget this nightmare. You will leave this heartache behind you at last."

With a frown, Diana shook her head slowly. She glanced away from the fire at the small group standing far enough away not to hear the conversation. Meeting Kosar's mournful eyes, her heart twisted and she recalled the painful mental connection from the night before. To rest, to forget the heartache and the horror, was a tempting idea. She looked back at Venger.

He softly said, "Go home and you will have peace of mind. Lay down your weapons for this Realm and returned to your peaceful lives on Earth." He looked at the seven. "The choice is yours, Young Ones."

FIN

Author's Note: Further stories will be classed as rated M. This T rating has been far too limiting to me. I look forward to questing with you in the future.


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